to see what condition my condition is in

Up early, therapy, breakfast in front of the computer reading Dear Abby, and then a much needed shower. I'm taking the GRE's this afternoon from noon to 4, then am racing into Harvard square to work a dinner shift. It'll be a miracle if I somehow manage to travel to Cambridge from Brookline, find parking in the square, and hurdle myself up the stairs and into the dining room in a half hour.

I'm a little anxious about the testing because of the math and because of a few unforeseeable essay questions, but mostly because I haven't studied nearly as much as I would have liked to, and I'm justifying my lack of studying in this way:

a. The GRE measures only how well I take the GRE. Not my personality, not my altruism, not my work ethic (thank god), not my warmth, not even my intelligence, believe it or not.

b. Any school that either would or would not accept me based on my GRE's can suck it.

Okay, into the shower with me, more this evening after work, I hope.

Oh, I had a dream last night about walking home from the farmers market with mom eating over-ripe fresh strawberries by the bucketfull. The odd thing is that that's actually happened. Nothing dream-like about it. The farmers market was always this kind of mecca of happiness when I was little...kind of still is. It's not just about the food either, it's like that's where all the happy people who are who's lives are financially stable enough to buy fresh produce on Saturday mornings go. They're total yuppies and they carry their bags to their SUV's and drive all their expensive fruit home to put in their walk-in refrigerators. What felt so poignant about watching market-goers when I was younger was noticing that nobody really went there alone. Everyone was with their significant other, their children, their sister who was in town visiting from Northern California. I think I aspire to yuppydom because it means never being alone. You can't be a yuppie if you don't have a family. 'Least that's what it looks like.
I used to wander the Saturday market knowing in my heart that I'd be happiest, that I will have reached my ultimate satisfaction with my life when I'm walking through the Santa Monica farmers market with my own family. I guess I'd be picking out produce for a dinner party or something. That's my fantasy anyhow.

Okay, really, shower time.