She, in the mirror, who stares back is unkind today.  Nothing reflected pleases her.  This shirt is too short.  That shirt is too tight.  This color is wrong.  This lock of hair is nonconformist.  The body she sees?  Not so fond of it at the moment.

"Why are some days like this?" the reflected one wonders.  Perhaps a lack of sleep.  Perhaps the scale moves in the wrong direction.  Perhaps it's just one of those days.  Perhaps something larger and more sinister is at work.  Perhaps it's all of these things . . . or none of them. 

It started innocently enough.  I suggested to my interns that we put the two long tables together to give them more workspace for their scrapbooking project.  (Yes, I am that mean . . . I make my interns scrapbook.)  Putting the tables together wasn't a big deal.  Cleaning off the one in the corner was a greater project than I anticipated.  Somehow that long rectangular flat space had become a repository of not just some scrapbooking supplies and my sewing machine (You're right, I don't have a "normal" office) but also of random piles of papers.

The last letter in my Meyer's-Briggs is a P . . . I pile things.  J's file; P's pile.  I excel in my pile-it-ing skills.  Today, I've been trying to become more J like.  I sorted, and sorted, and sorted again.  I've thrown out tons of duplicates---it's easier to print another copy than to find the one already printed.  I've divided things into new piles that I'm transforming into files.  There is a certain sense of accomplishment to creating all those files.  Seeing the surface of a table or two is a nice reward as well. 

I have two great hopes with all this pretending to be a J.  The first is that I'll be able to keep it up.  The second is that I'll remember where I filed things.

I realize it has been half of forever since I've written.  Since I'm sitting in another training that we're doing, and my big part is tomorrow, I'll give you some glimpses of the things that are bubbling to the surface of my brain. 

I've had my knee brace for almost 3 weeks.  What a difference a brace makes!  I've been riding my bike, going up and down the stairs, and generally being myself without much knee pain again.  It's a very good thing.  It fits under most of my pants, and most of my skirts are longish so most people usually aren't aware that I'm wearing it.  To quote Carrie Bradshaw, "Me likey!"

In spite of my brace, I've found myself on the ground twice in the last two weeks.  The first time was completely understandable---pitch black evening, uneven and unfamiliar parking lot.  Yesterday, not so much . . . broad daylight, fairly familiar and even parking lot . . . and suddenly the blacktop was approaching my face.  I somehow managed to get my hands out in front of me, knicked up the palms of my hands, bloodied my elbow which in turn bloodied my shirt and my pants, and bruised my knees.  I also had blacktop marks on my pants from my waist to my ankles.  I'm not sure how it all happened, but I hope it doesn't happen again.

Intestinal issues seem to be under control as long as I take my medicine.  I tried to wean myself off it a month ago.  That was a bad decision.

I'm in a season of hellos followed quickly by good-byes.  Last week it was "little" kids for a week of debriefing.  This week it's the new appointees for the organization.  Next week, I get to see so many of my friends who I haven't seen since last June.  My best friend who lives in North Africa will be there for the first week, too.  But that means a good-bye in a week, and then good-byes to everyone else six days later.  Then I've got at least 4 more weeks of hellos followed by good-byes within the week.  Good-byes inhale violently and make me emotionally weary.

Diet Coke with Lime is the best.

If there's a gene for organization and neatness, I'm lacking it.  I wish I had it.

I'm not mentally ready to pack my bags for Saturday's 6 AM flight. 

And I think that's all the bubbles that are rising to the top at the moment.