Jer and I celebrated our sixth anniversary at The Melting Pot last night. The Melting Pot is a fondue restaurant. I'd never had fondue before, but the learning curve isn't that steep. (Hello fork, meet double boiler.) It was a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours, but if we do it again I'm saving room for dessert. By the time we ate our cheese starter, salad, and cooked the meat, there wasn't any room left for the assorted chocolate concoctions. In the harsh light of day, this makes me sad.

It's time to think about a vacation. I need something to look forward to, an adventure to plan. Even if it's only for a weekend, a road trip and a hotel room, I'd be happy.

I haven't felt much like writing lately, or writing about not writing. California still thinks my car is registered there and sent me a renewal. I had some trickiness with my bank. Some of my favorite people at work are leaving for other jobs, and I'm barely making it the gym. I'm still making it in, but it's a fight everytime. I've just got a case of blah. Not even Bailey Sunday is fully charging my batteries, if you know what I mean. So at the risk of throwing up a lot of whine at the universe, I've been keeping to myself.

I am looking forward to the fact that the water taxi starts tomorrow. That means I can take a boat into work and avoid the bus and the traffic altogether. Since there's another march planned through the streets of downtown during rush hour tomorrow, I can't wait to partake in a brisk commute by boat across the bay. Beats sitting on the bus for an hour to go four blocks.

Lastly, the technical writing class that started yesterday, the one I'd been looking forward to for months? The instructor never showed. We all sat around waiting for 40 minutes, but nothing. No one could reach him, no one at the college knew anything. We all gave up and left, finally, after the guy at the front desk offered the ten of us a cookie to share for our trouble. Very disappointing.