You can't be in your twenties again, but you can go to the same places, feel up the same memories, get drunk at the same bars. The neighborhoods are a little more developed; there are high rises now and more fast food restaurants. Everything is a little junkier than you remember. When you go to the weird, perfect, best bar, the graffiti you left there seven years ago has been painted over and replaced with new, different graffiti. When the sun goes down, you can take off your clothes, swim naked with your friends in the same ocean: as warm as blood and rich with sharks. That was my favorite part - the swimming. 

I'm tired. My life feels impossibly wide right now, like there's so much to do and so little of me to go around with it. I'm home in my blue mountains now and there are too many baby butternut squash in my garden, but no sunflowers or tomatoes. Isn't it funny how that goes, year to year? They all have such different characters.

It's going to be a stupid week at work; I can already feel that. I have to train my new C-level on part of my job and pretend that she isn't going to rank and misunderstand the processes, therefore undervalue them and probably diminish my department. I wish I had another day, just a time to be home with nothing much to do except sweep my house and cut back the morning glory in my yard. It really is a nice yard.