If there's a god, he's laughing at us (and our football team)

I got lost coming back from lunch this afternoon. I'd gone to Barnes & Noble looking for a little more Sherlock Holmes and hoping to score the latest issue of TV Guide (I decided against the former and the latter wasn't in stock yet) and decided to take a little detour from my normal route. When I passed a peat processing plant and a string of unfamiliar-looking liquor stores, I knew I'd strayed too far. It seems incredible that I can still get lost in the same ten-by-ten mile grid that I've been driving in every day since I started at the agency. I tried to pass it off as no big deal -- a vehicular lark, if you will -- but the shine came off the apple when I cruised by a ramshackle taco stand that enterprisingly doubled as a used auto parts outlet. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent person but, when it comes to navigation, I'm pretty much rudderless.

Still no word from the apartment complex, which aggravates Todd more than it does me. Understandably. We're getting down to "crunch time" and it would be nice to have confirmation of a place to live. After cleaning my room last weekend I came up with a fresh stack of "must have" books that will be traveling with me to our new home; I think I should get at least two bookshelves to hold them. We're going to live a pretty spartan existence for a while (knowing full well that this apartment is a temporary homestead to get us both through graduate school), but I honestly don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't have a part of my collection with me. There's something very comforting and homey about a bookshelf jammed full of trade paperbacks. Call me sentimental.