It's October 3rd and the first thing I think of is Mean Girls. The second thing is how much I crave spaghetti but how every time I am on a date or with someone I am just getting to know I never order spaghetti, always penne — it's easier to eat, it's less messy and isn't that what most people want to see and be themselves? I want to cook spaghetti but it's after midnight and I don't have the energy but the garlic and the olive oil and the freshly crushed black pepper call for me. But wait, first this, I need to write. The words need to come out. They have been brewing for so long but I couldn't decide if they should be made into a mocha latte or an iced Americano or a hazelnut Frappuccino so I let them keep brewing but now they must flow out even if as mediocre coffee. I've met more new people this year than last and in way more stable ways. Isn't that something to be grateful about? People I can have honest and good conversations with, people I can laugh with, people I can feel comfortable and safe with. That has become my new normal, the bare minimum, the benchmark. So maybe that's why I don't place any of them on the pedestal anymore or write obsessively about the time I spend with them. And that is a good thing. As good as anything has been this year. The seasons are changing. I am too.