On the Obscenity of Happiness. 20 days from now, I turn 26 but it's this weekend that I grew a very large, mature heart. I've been in DC for about 7 months now. Most days, I feel like time is a non-element with respect to how at home I feel in this place. It couldn't have been only 7 months, I think to myself. But this weekend, I realized too that a few months can be a very long time. This is how I know I've built a life here - I have great friends, who are willing to lie to my face to go along with a surprise rooftop party; I have a list of favorite desserts and breakfast choices; I am the proud owner of an American baseball hat for the new-found fan in me; I've seen and been to great postcard-worthy views in my city; and I have a great person in my court, cheering for me and willing to do nice things for me not for any reason other than he thinks I deserve to be treated well (there are notes proving this claim). These are the things and people that I have. Just as important markers are the things that I don't have that tell me about the quality of the life I'm living - a constant anxiety about having to fill my day with activities; a fear of getting lost (I am a tourist no longer); an attachment to how I think my relationships should progress. I told A. over breakfast this morning, "With everything that's going on in the world and in life, it's a little obscene to be this happy." I think for one weekend/month a year, I could be obscene. But first, sincere politeness - thank you.