My goodness, I'm going to have a busy fall. Teaching French for around 20-25 hours a week, teaching ballet on Tuesday nights, and maybe more as well (I'm still really not sure about that), doing a program so I can be a better yoga teacher, taking French classes through the Alliance Fran├žaise, maybe doing Czech dancing on Monday nights. And researching grad schools and writing a statement of purpose and polishing my writing sample and getting letters of recommendation. And I still have a week and a half as Assistant Stage Manager for Ananya Dance Theater, with tech this week and performances next weekend. It's looking really good, and really intense, and I'm feeling really inspired to be really creative. Really.

It is freakishly cold right now. How can you go from wearing shorts and tank tops one day to, only three days later, a sweatshirt and jeans? Only in Minnesota, methinks. At least I'm being a good hipster (I guess I might be one?) and am wearing skinny jeans and cowboy boots.


Ugh. It is far too early to be up. But today is pickle-making day! And I have bright red yoga pants!


My parents put Molly to sleep on Monday. When I went home to do some laundry today, her bowls weren't by the stove anymore. My mom gathered up all of her things from their homes around the house, but can't quite seem to get rid of them yet. They're all just sitting in a corner of the kitchen, forlorn and unused, but not forgotten.

I haven't been particularly attached to her lately, but it's still hard to imagine home without Molly. She's been around for practically as long as I can remember.


I am now CPR certified. That means I can teach in a yoga classroom by myself. Yay!

Also, I have a job interview/audition to be a yoga teacher tomorrow at noon. It's for a pilates studio that I've never been to before, but I'm excited just to get the chance to teach a class. And possibly getting a job out of doing that only makes it better.

This is the last week of summer classes at Language Sprout. It's been a good summer, if a bit crazy. I think I served my students well, and the ones that wanted to learn learned a lot. The ones that didn't really want to learn at least picked up something, which is all you can ask for.

I have to move out of my apartment by noon on the 31st, and that's really weirding me out. This has been such a great apartment, I've really loved living here. I have a hard time imagining not living here. Also, I have a lot of stuff. Like really, a lot.

Apparently disjointed and choppy sentences are all I can manage right now. I'm going to go make a drink, read some LOTR, and plan what we'll do during the last day of camp tomorrow.


Molly was found, safely ensconced in the animal humane society. She looks so sad in her picture, and I think she had a pretty rough day. We ended up having a family meeting, and decided that her quality of life is practically non-existent, and that we'll have to look into having her put down, possibly tomorrow morning. Kate and I ended up having a nice conversation about her, and all of the things that she loves, and our memories of getting her, and playing with her, and walking with her, and how she loves to be the queen of the laundry basket. It is surprising to think that the dog that has been such a fixture of life on Berkeley Ave for most of my memories isn't going to be around anymore. At the same time, when you compare Molly as she is now to how she was when she was younger, it's obvious that her time has come. She has seizures, some days she can hardly walk, she has no control over her bladder, and is deaf and mostly blind from cataracts. It's the humane thing to do, I just can't wrap my head around it.
I lost the sixteen year old family dog. The sixteen year old dog with epilepsy, cataracts, hearing loss and the beginnings of kidney failure. Molly decided she was three again and ran away like she used to do. But she's not three, she's sixteen and has epilepsy and could hardly walk yesterday, hasn't been able to see anything for over a year, and is mostly deaf. And my parents are due back in town any minute, and the dog is gone. The dog is gone and not wearing a collar, because we all thought that of course the sixteen year old dog that can hardly walk would never run away, and there would be no need for a collar.

Why do dramatic things happen whenever a family member is coming back from a big trip? Kate got home from Prague and the car got impounded. My parents fly back from Sacramento and the dog runs away. What kind of bad karma do I have?
I woke up at 8:30 to my dog barking her head off, so I let her outside and went back to bed, noticing in the meantime how smelly the kitchen was because she had pooped in her kennel again. It started pouring. Molly got soaked, and the kennel still smells, which means the entire first floor of the house smells, cause I'm sure as hell not about to go clean it out in the pouring rain.

Oh, and the light fixture in the back entryway managed to start leaking water from the little porch we have upstairs that must not be draining properly. Yay.