1960

I've been watching Mad Men.
As a result, I find myself wanting to be charming and have long red fingernails and wear pencil skirts and heals all the time.
Somehow, I don't think it's going to happen.

My tummy hurts.

I hate being sick. You hurt and it doesn't go away until you get better, which can take days.
I especially hate being sick so far away from my mother and all my loved ones, who will make my bed and rub my back and tell me what to do to get better.
Right now, I want my mommy.

Update

I realize that I didn't write a follow-up to either of my two last posts, both of which require updates.
First of all, my new roommate has convinced me that sex addiction is, in fact, a real thing. After listening to Loveline with her for a couple of nights, I'm inclined to agree. (P.S. Am I the only American in who managed to go through high school and college in the past fifteen years without ever having listened to Loveline? I mean, I was certainly aware of its existence, since Dr. Drew wrote an advice column in my favorite teen magazine, but I never listened to it before moving into this apartment.)
More seriously, though, I'm starting to find a life for myself in San Francisco. I have a home (complete with bunnies!), I have a grocery store (two, if you count the produce market where I buy the vast majority of my groceries, as well as the standard big-box grocery store, where I buy my cereal and my milk, and my cheez-its when I desire them), I have a place to go for a run and a place to do my laundry. I am exploring a different neighborhood each weekend, and finding at least one lovely sight or delicious taste in each.

My friends are exactly what I'd hoped for when planning a cross-country move. They are fun, and supportive, and have all been just wonderful in helping me learn San Francisco.
I'm still figuring out what my life will be, but all in all, I think that this time in San Francisco will be pretty okay.