The various deadlines that have cowered above my livelihood are slowly descending upon me. Throughout the summer their distance warranted limitless neglect and indifference on my part; those shapeless, formless little beasts simply weren't near enough to be seen clearly, and thus the imprecision of the threat gave me plenty of room to breathe and be merry. No worry, though, my darlings, no worry: I'm plowing through the bureaucracy of the UC to register, and I'm working five doubles a week to buy the computer I need. I'll make it, but barely, as I always do. I live by an effort/return ratio, after all, and there is but one sin that summons my penitence: working too hard. I studied just enough to just barely pass the written driving test last week when I transferred my license, and good lord, did it show; I was a question away from failing. I'll slave and slave and slave away for a 90% but not a bit more. When it comes to deadlines and various ordeals that need tending, I've adopted General Prescott's methods: I shan't shoot 'till I see the whites of their eyes.

Though preparations for the fall obviously haven't whipped me into a frenzy, it depresses me a bit all the same; I feel as if the first leaves have fallen, so to speak, and the summer's warmth will succumb to a blustery autumn any moment. My summer has been pleasant and much has been accomplished, but the laziness of summers past is nowhere to be found upon recollection. Gone are the days of exploring gullies and building nations in the backyard, gone forever. Money and its various complications are now permanent fixtures in my life, and their arrival marks the departure of young carelessness- or at least the forgiving carelessness that youth affords, for carelessness waxes as strong as ever in certain aspects of my life- and has chased away those lazy summer days. No worry, though, my darlings, no worry: this is all part of growing up, I suppose.

I feel all too grown-up, however, when I realize that I, a fellow multiple-job holder, have fallen into the cesspool of wide-spread employee dissatisfaction that is a strip mall. Granted, it's a brand-new, upscale strip mall, but all the same: the joy of shopping melts away when the employees helping you are not faceless, as they should be, but rather coworkers from either your first job or your second; they are not wall fixtures, they are people, and upon this sick realization the whole outing becomes dispiriting. I toss a glance through their uniforms and I see their wispy, withered soul; they do not come to work to help me and their fate is my own; I am them, I will see them at Lonestar when I go to work at six. Thus it is nothing more than an gross extension of my working hours, and the pleasure I once basked in is sadly no more. At least I have found a blessing amongst the scattered rubble, that being a money pouch generally left untouched by shopping, and in a couple of weeks I will be able to purchase my pretty new computer. I also give Lonestar my two weeks notice next week, and leave for a trip to Salt Lake in three. See, dearest readers: though I mourn the season's end, I recognize the welcome changes it heralds.

Yesterday was my birthday- details of the fabulous day will follow in a day or two- and this is what Bryan gave me: a fully-functioning L.C Smith & Corona Standard typewriter made in 1932. It is lovely, as you can see, and types beautifully...



And fits, quite conveniently...



Into this dandy little travel case. And a mere 18 lbs at that! Needless to say, I am thrilled.

Rapidly comes the end of asking others to run my drinks for me. Come this Saturday- a mere three days away, might I add- I turn nineteen and can officially serve alcohol in the mighty boozed-up state of Ohio. Oh happy day!

Despite my boundless sarcasm and cynicism, I am jubilant at the idea of a birthday. The various factors that have spawned such excitement are not what they used to be: though in past years and the time of early youth one waited with breath none more bated than that held for gifts, I'm simply happy to have cause to celebrate. It feels appropriate that the slightly monotonous summer should come to an end with my brother's visit, a vacation of my own, and finally, my birthday. This weekend's plans have been carved up with all sorts of delights: accompanying Bryan to a work party that, unlike previous, wretched work ordeals, includes half of a theme park and alcohol, a celebratory sushi outing with papa, and a small celebration between Bryan and I on Sunday. He's been teasing me with hints as to what his gift is ( we've code-named the gift “pear bucket” so as to make reference a little easier and more endearing). I look forward to the weekend.

It is a good thing I have this time to look forward to; I've returned to work with three delightful little doubles in a row (if you are going to accuse me of sarcasm and my usual loathsome bitterness, now would be the time to do so). Fortunately yesterday was an incredibly lucrative day- and has broken my record for the most ever made at Lonestar in one evening- but lunch today was not. I hope the misfortune of the lunch crowd will remain in isolation and not prove ominous for tonight's spoils. The air feels apocalyptic, I'm afraid, and I'm already a bit crestfallen because of the tragic finale of HBO's Rome's first season. Thus I would not be surprised if the evening returned me to my home with less than a twenty in my ragged pockets. Honestly, why on earth did they kill off Julius so quickly? All within one season Caesar is already dead? And Niobe as well? How necessary was that? Good lord, within three new episodes we'll already see Augustus' mistrust of Marc Antony begin to boil. Bah, I say.

I digress. I don't mean to drag you into this messy HBO business; I'm just so bummed. If they kill off James Purefoy anytime soon, however- I'll admit that it is an unlikely conspiracy, given that he plays Marc Antony- they will be receiving a very angry letter from a certain someone immediately.

Work beckons me, so off I go. Cheers, my darlings, and hopefully your evenings prove fairer than my own.

Saturday marked my return from holiday, which Bryan and I spent upwards in lovely Vancouver, and which was five marvelous days in duration. We stayed in a hostel downtown close to the water. In some ways it was relaxing, in some not; we had the whole city to see in those five days, after all, and the majority of our time was spent on the move from one district to the next. Though we did indulge in a couple of activities befitting and expected of us as tourists, we probably fooled half the locals. My favorite part was the food: our meals were extravagant, the drinking age is merciful, and the restaurant selection downtown phenomenal. Dining is a much better experience when a chic glass of shiraz is in hand. Pictures will soon be posted.

One of the best parts of the trip, however, was the layover in Salt Lake; the day-long ordeal gave me time to surprise mum and spend five or so hours with her. I miss her terribly, and the visit reminded me of this. I will try to visit Salt Lake in the next month or so prior to the beginning of school.

Life has returned to normal, with the exception of school registration, which reminds me that university begins in a month or so. I cannot wait; I tire of the summer and my lurid employment. Granted, a very expensive computer waits to be purchased within the month, and my savings are, well... what's a good euphemism for under three hundred dollars? Can't think of any? Bother, neither can I. Regardless, the thought of no longer working at lonestar brings tears to my destitute eyes.

Speaking of work and my long-lost mother, however: I work at six and plan to drop mum a ring before then. I must dash, darlings. Cheers.