Sugar, please.

This morning, I had reason to wonder how long the shelf-stable packet of supplies one might mix into the tainted water amenity called "in-room coffee" had been sitting there. A late-night check-in to a Ramada Inn is nobody's beacon in the darkness.

The rest of this weekend was a fantastic start to the seasons ahead. Flight from Los Angeles to Omaha, an evening out with besties, a bestie wedding, an eight-hour drive to attempt sleep before a first day on a project in Denver, exchange check for keys to a sublet. It is a new city, one where I must make friends and talk to strangers, figure out where the hell I'm going without frantically calling my husband until he calms me down, find a suitable daily run, grocery store and coffee shop, and not compare these things to other places in recent history. Add in some work-performance anxiety, and somehow it makes for my real life, every moment of which I am grateful for and wouldn't substitute for anything else.

Hello, Denver, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.