Between being able to fly and being invisible, I'd rather fly.

It was one of those things I would daydream about when I was little, in the car, in the school cafeteria, in airports. I would also daydream about being able to breathe underwater all mermaid like, but without the tail. The idea of being able to swim and glide through water endlessly seemed to have the same feeling of freedom as the idea of flying through the air does.

Lately I find myself wishing I could communicate with animals. Sophie keeps squeaking at night. He's scratched his left shoulder raw and constantly grooms himself. He's otherwise healthy: still pudgy and quite active. His squeaks are out of pain when his scratching frenzy grazes his self inflicted wound. I want to know what's wrong and why he's doing this and and I want to tell him to stop scratching that spot. Oh, and not to freak out so much whenever the big giant hand needs to move him out so his home can be cleaned out.

For any of those who might be wondering, I did find what I was looking for. My ultra safe hiding spot = inside one of the books sitting next to my makeshift desk. I said it was safe place, I never said it was a smart one.

Have you ever put something away for safe keeping thinking that the place you tucked it away was much better than just leaving it lying out on the table except that you forgot where you placed it so you're now all frustrated but have no one to blame but yourself who must have put it somewhere really really safe since you haven't been able to find it after looking for a few hours?

*sigh*

*trudges back to searching*

My brother tells me that I hum when I'm eating something particularly tasty. I don't realize that I'm doing it until I discover him staring at me and stating, "It must be good, she's humming." Matt doesn't do anything quite as distinct, but I can tell when he likes his food. That said, I don't think Matt likes what I cook.

I know he doesn't dislike my cooking, but he isn't thrilled about it either. I want him to peek into the kitchen to find out what smells so good, instead of asking me when I wander into the living room, "What's burning?"

I think I have issues about not being good at something that I like to do. Plus part of the pleasure of cooking is being able to consume and really enjoy what you created instead of scraping it into the trash can. I have all sorts of mini goals in my head like being able to bake a loaf of bread, but I know that I'll have reached my ultimate goal when one day at dinner Matt will point out to me that I'm humming.

"You sound terrible" has been the official greeting that I've been receiving in the past few days. I've been a good girl (went to the doctor, drinking lots of fluids, getting lots of rest), but I still haven't been able to shake this cold which has settled down a bit and taken up residence in my chest.

Matt sleeps curled up facing the wall. Sometimes my coughing wakes him up to which he asks, "You're not coughing in my direction are you?" He tries to defend his insensitivity with "I don't cough at you." I just growl at him in my gravely voice and steal the blanket.

giraffes. bendy straws. origami. sand castles. cathedrals. goldfish. colored glass. orchids. the soft spot between a bunny's ears. my husband's smile. my niece's laugh. strawberry sorbet. warm socks on cold days. the pacific ocean. clouds. postcards. Clinique lipstick. laptop computers. visual journals. white chocolate. cats.

And for those who are not lovey-dovey today: the anti-valentine.

I had plans to bake Matt a cheesecake (his ultra favorite dessert) for Valentine's day, but in my current health that wasn't going to happen. Instead, on my way back from the doctor yesterday, I bought him one of those small heart shaped cheesecakes that seem to be sold everywhere. I think he likes it. His response of "Mmmm. Cheesecake." seems to indicate so.

Hope you all have a nice Valentine's day on what looks to be like a dark and rainy day. As for me, I'm going back to sleep.

Thursday. I'm finding it difficult to believe that I've pretty much slept through the past four days. Well... sleep, gulp down medication, stumble to the bathroom and back into bed... you get the idea. I think the most interesting occurance was Matt's very disgusted reaction at discovering my used kleenex pile next to my side of the bed. He then reminded me of the trash can in the corner. But the very reason that I had a pile was because the trash can in the corner is very close to where his head is when he sleeps and being lazy and having bad aim, I thought it would be better to throw them away later instead of risking hitting him in the head with a used wad of tissue in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, our sense of what later is differs quite a bit.

I think this happens to just about every couple that lives in close quarters. One gets sick and shortly after the other follows. Then the former recovers while the other gets worse, but shortly after the recovered one gets infected again by the miserably sick one. Basically, I'm sick again. Bah.

Right now Matt is snoozling away in the bedroom while I'm stealing a few minutes away from my work to put a few words down here. I'm trying to figure out what to get him for Valentine's day. He asked me what I wanted and responded with my annoying habit of answering with a question and asked him what he wanted. His reply, "Valentine's day is a girl holiday."

I remember having a similar conversation years before and as a result I polled some of my male friends asking them if they shared the same belief. I think the consensus was that they would be flattered/appreciative if given a gift on Valentine's day, but they understood Matt's sentiment. I believe that Valentine's day is a give or do something nice for someone or everyone that you love, male or female.

My brother gave me Valentine's gifts for years before Matt came along. Even when I was dorming, he'd get my roommate to let him in so he could sneak in his gift. I would come back from class and find some chocolate goodness and a card waiting for me. He stopped the year after Matt gave me a dozen red roses and a box of chocolate truffles; he knew I was in good hands.

Noodles, malasadas, and candy, oh my. Other than a full stomach (and a violated diet) I came home with a bug eyed turtle, a two liter bottle of Pepsi, and a handful of books: Laura Esquirel's Like Water for Chocolate, Michael Cunningham's The Hours, and interesting nonalcoholic drink recipe book. I actually only bought two of the three. I had picked up and pondered buying The Hours for a while, but eventually placed it back on the table. My friend, Val, who had seen me do this, purchased the book and gave it to me shortly after we left the tent. I told Matt over the phone about that small, but very nice bit of generosity. He didn't quite understand why she did it. I thought he of all people would understand she did it "just because."

Side note: Chad, in case you read this, you also rock for lots of little things that I don't write about, but are just as meaningful.

I'm feeling much better, but Matt is feeling equally worse. So I feel a smidge guilty that I'll be at the Punahou carnival later this afternoon while he's at work. (Only a smidge cause he doesn't care for carnivals to begin with.) I imagine this year will be the same as years past: eating lots of junk, dizzying rides, and games involving the throwing of sharp objects. I've been known to injure innocent stuffed creatures in my attempts to come home with something, but I always make a point to get some cotton candy before leaving. It won't be the same this year without my cotton candy buddy to share it with.

Mochi, my brother and sister-in-law's cat who passed away late last year, loved cotton candy as much as I do. Strange since supposedly cats aren't supposed to like sweets. If he saw me eating some without sharing with him, he'd get mad and start yowling. Eventually he'd start climbing me to steal a taste. No other food could get that reaction out of him. After he got his sugar fix he'd be the sweetest hyperactive kitty who'd switch back and forth from purring and being affectionate and tearing through the house. I think this year I'll just bring home a bag of malasadas to share with Matt when he gets home.

I meant to also note that our return flight was with Omni Air International, neither of us had flown with them before. Other than the even smaller bathrooms and narrower seats and aisles, the most noticable difference is that everything is printed primarily in German telling you: No Smoking. Life vest under seat. Bitte gurte waehrend des sitzens geshlossen halten. Our friendly flight attendant informed us that they buy all their planes in Germany. He also made sure that we kept an eye out for a particular aflac commercial; he did the hair in it.

Matt is back to work and I'm slowly getting back into my own day to day (much of which I don't write about here). I'm also starting a restricted carb diet. Matt is too much of a rice boy to ever consider joining me in it. This afternoon he happily fluffed the rice in the pot while saying, "Mine, all mine." I've seen a lot of diet journals online and I don't mean for this to turn into one, but if I start writing about insane bread cravings at least you'll know why.

These days it seems every time I step into an airport a new set of rules have been set. Among other things, not only are selected people taking off their shoes all are required to take off their outer layers of clothing (jackets, sweaters, overshirts) and we are no longer allowed to lock our luggage. I would not be surprised if in the near future they started to do random strip searches. National security seems to be coming at the expense of personal security.

Our honeymoon in Vegas was fun, but we both ended the trip with lighter pockets. I ate more crab in our four nights there than I've eaten in the entire past year. Actually, I ate a lot during our trip, so much so that Matt started to wonder if I was starving when at home and began asking me constantly if I was hungry. I told him that gambling builds up an appetite, but he didn't believe it since he was eating less than he usually does. My appetite is now gone since both of us also came home sick.

(Need to go. I'll post more later.)