A large number of years ago, Kris and I went to a street fair (quite accidentally, actually) in Menlo Park, and came across a vendor selling light switch plates with glow-in-the-dark polymer clay with geometric designs on it. The switch plates were expensive ($25 a piece!), so we bought only one. That switch plate is still my favorite switch plate, even though I've since bought a number of different coloured ones. Despite going to other street fairs since that one, I had not been able to find that vendor again. It was frustrating! Worse, I couldn't really find any switch plates I liked.

Actually, you know what's worse? Writing the same story twice.

Yeah, so, to finish the office, I bought some switch plates from switchhits.com. When I saw the From: address on the box that arrived today, though, hey, I guess I'll need to head out to the garage to find a screwdriver. Unsure of the size, I opened the box and looked in.

To my surprise:

There was a screwdriver in the box with my switch plates.

THAT is customer service.

I was tickled at first about this, but then disappointed when I couldn't find the screws to the switch plates. Except the joy returned when I did find them.

They matched the orange switch plates:

Happy!

Of course, my happiness was a bit tempered by the short screws that couldn't hold the plates on. Fortunately, my tupperware full of screws and nails and things exists for solely this purpose. To save the day.

So, yeah, if you're looking for fun switch plates, I highly recommend switchhits.com.

Made pumpkin bread today. I used the whisk that works best for non-stick surfaces.

Unfortunately, it doesn't really wear well.

That whisk is about seven years old. It probably won't see eight.

Slightly related: happy dog!

There are moments when I sit here in Dad's kitchen, laptop in front of me, refrigerator humming along, clock ticking above my head, my back tired from sitting here for hours trying to finish a task, launch some site, finish something for a client or a my own project, something that was very important, so important, and I'm overwhelmed with the realization that, yeah, I'm going to die, and statistically speaking, I'm half way to that end.

I think of some of the things that I'm not going to do, and am sad at the thoughts of the activities I thought so important that I wasted my time on them, when they really weren't that important.

I think of some of the things that I just needed to have, and am sad that I thought that thing was so important that I wasted my money, which is just an exchange for my time, on them, when they really weren't that important.

I think of some of the things that really are worth my time, and am sad that I didn't realize how important they are to me, and that I was too scared to try when I had a chance.

I sit here, and cry at the loss of that time and the missed and dismissed opportunities.

I miss my friends. I miss the communal dinners. I miss the games nights. I miss the games nights when I could actually play the games. I miss the mountains. I miss the casual ease of friends walking into the house. I miss the ultimate games, the sidelines, the exhaustion, the car rides, the plane trips, the new places, the old places comfortable after annual tournaments.

I miss, well, I miss my old life.

And as much as I know that the new stuff is going to be awesome, during these moments, I mourn the loss of the old, and really hope that I haven't hit the half way point yet.

Whelp, fifth day after I opened up my hand, and it seems to have healed over by at least a layer of skin. I'm a little weirded out by this, as I'd rather it heals from the inside out than the outside in, but, well, not bleeding is a good place to be.

Yep, this pretty much sums up what my dad thinks about my picture taking habits.