UPDATE:

RzDrms found the fitted sheet! I am not even kidding. Read the comments. She is a GENIUS! Or she's got cameras set up in our house....which, whatever, I don't even care. She found the fitted sheet! BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE INTERNET, people.

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We have lost a fitted sheet. I know. That seems impossible. I mean, it's not like it ever leaves the house, not like we take our own sheets to hotels or something. And yet, this household is less one fitted sheet.

It's a little embarrassing, really. A bit like losing...I don't know, a boat sail? A parachute? Rob has looked everywhere, and I have looked everywhere. Yes, even behind the dryer. Even behind and under the drawer where we store the sheets. Even under the bed. Even in the shower, although really why the hell would it be there?

Usually when something is lost we blame the cats. Because what else are they good for? In this case, they would each have had to grab a corner of the sheet in their teeth and scooted, together, to a secret hiding place.

So far this is our best theory. Because how else does a person lose a fitted fucking sheet?

So I just discovered that EVERYONE BUT ME is on Twitter. I knew a couple folks were, but tonight I discovered, like, EVERYONE. Especially all the people in the old gang who don't update their blogs much anymore. Turns out? You're all Twittering! Who knew? It seems everyone just up and moved to a different neighborhood.

I have been staunchly resisting Twitter since I first heard about it. For many reasons, laziness being near the top of the list. But now I'm feeling all left out and shit. It's like when you choose not to attend a party, but then proceed to pout about missing it.

• Three years of blogging! Monday was my 3-year blogiversary. I ate cake.
• Minor existential crisis. Okay fine, it might have been major. And using the past tense isn't completely accurate since the crisis is, in fact, still occurring. I have some angst over (not) having a life plan and (not) finding my passion and thus (not?) meeting my full potential and blah blah blah I don't want to talk about it. Except to say you shouldn't be worried or anything because this totally happens every six months.
• Too busy to breathe! On the two days a week I have EMT class I leave the house before 8a and don't get home until nearly 10p. Between that and my regular workouts and the addition of swimming and the occasional Italian learning, there is very little time during the week for anything else except maybe dinner. And not always that. I am kicking ass on my New Year initiatives and enjoying all of it, but I am also very tired come, oh, Tuesday. It seems that in enriching my life I have very little time for, um, life. But being busy isn't really a bad thing during the cold-hearted days of winter as it keeps me occupied until spring.

Over the break Rob did some updates to my blog, which isn't necessarily worth mentioning (although very important for geek-genius reasons) except that I also took this opportunity to change the look of things around here. Which I suppose also does not need mentioning since it's sorta, well, obvious. Very Extreme Makeover: Blog Edition or something.

As always, many thanks to Rob for the hours and hours of work that went into this. He always makes it look so effortless, although it can be rather intense. And I'm not much of an assistant, other than one time when I sat on the sofa next to him and fed him forkfuls of breakfast as he typed away. (Hoping to find a more accurate word than "typed," I just now asked Rob to describe, in a verb, what he has been doing at the keyboard, to the blog. He replied: "Banged. Wrangled." So um, there you go. He has apparently been making sexy time with klog.)

I'm quite pleased to have a new look for the new year. And now that we've renovated this place, we totally need to focus our energies on our fucking kitchen.

(ps - Some of you have requested a comment rss, which is now available here.)

My new gynecologist's office lost my medical records. They were transferred when my former doctor retired, but no one seems to know where they were put. When the receptionist told me this, I must have displayed a look of panic, because she quickly reassured me. "It's okay. We'll just start over."

Start over?

I explained to her that I didn't want to start over, that there were ultrasound and mammogram results in that folder that are of particular importance. She nodded and promised they'd look again.

I sat down in the waiting room and thought about how important our histories are to us. In Eat, Pray, Love, Gilbert explains that in Bali, the information people want to know about each other is where they were and where they're headed. She says the first thing a person will ask you when you meet in the street is, "Where are you going?" And then immediately after your response, they ask, "Where are you coming from?" People place each other within this frame of reference, along a line of past destinations and future intentions.

In fact, our past destinations affect our future intentions. Medical histories are a concrete example of how the histories of our lives follow us. The small lump I found several years ago dictates, to some degree, my future medical care. I carry it with me; it resides benignly in my right breast. My personal history dwells within me, too. The emotional places I have visited, the particular landscapes of joy and pain, influence how I live today and how I view tomorrow. I carry them all in my breast as well.

Part of the reason I continue to blog is because I like having a documented history. It's the reason I first started writing here, and it's one of the most compelling reasons I have to keep going. I don't recall many details from my life before this blog. I remember, of course, but when I really look back, the frames of my life speed together in a blur. But by blogging, scenes are brought into focus and kept forever on freeze-frame. And I think, too, that through writing about my life I have trained myself to view it differently, to really see it as it's happening. Almost like being in slow motion, in the best possible way.

I suspect this desire to be closely tied to my past is part of what keeps me here in Redneck Valley as well. Home is where my history is. The idea of moving away has always been appealing to me, because of the adventure of discovering a new place, the romance of new possibilities, and the opportunity to start over. But start over? I don't want to start over. Clean slates are overrated. I'm grounded here, surrounded by familiar things. My family is here. And I grew up with these mountains watching over me. This place has changed as I have changed, and we share a history. Sometimes Rob and I go places where we once went on high school dates. That might feel small to some people, but I like intersecting with the past. I like coming full circle.

The gynecologist's office never found my records. The nurse finally called me into the back, and as I stepped onto the scales to be weighed, she asked, "How tall are you?" I felt a little lost to realize that she didn't even know my height, much less my history. I replied, and then watched as she wrote 5'8" at the top of my blank patient chart.

Starting over.

You may have noticed that there has been a flurry of recent bliss bits and relatively few bitch sessions on klog lately. Thinking that this is surely an indicator of Kelly's increased happiness, I set out to quantify it.

I compiled the historical data covering blog posts from the beginning of klog in February 2005, comparing the number of bliss bits to the number of bitch sessions on a monthly basis. Subtracting the number of bitch sessions from the number of bliss bits yields that month's "balance of happiness" indicator. This number ranges from 5 to -5 with an average just barely above zero (there have been 46 bliss bits as opposed to 42 bitch sessions over 2.5 years of klog).

You may think this is a crude measure, but I challenge you to find a clearer, more objective, and more quantifiable indicator of happiness. The results are summarized in the line graph below; I'll let you draw your own conclusions about the trends.

my words ebb and flow
inspiration is tidal
like friendships, like life

writing still a joy
a way to share and record
and muse the moments

this sunday was my
two-year blogiversary
thanks for being here