Twelve.
Today is my 12th anniversary working for you-know-who. Wow. When I started this job I was a lot younger, skinnier, and blonder. I was also a lot less bruised by life. I had more energy but less stress. I drove a Mitsubishi that was 1/2 way paid for. I'd just moved back to Austin after being gone for five years, and lived in a rented house with horrible carpet and a man I would marry and divorce. I had lots of free time and saw lots of movies and live music. Everyone was freaking about the Millennium and what it would mean to computer systems around the world. My boss was hoarding bottled water and food in his spare bedroom. I had straight hair and bangs. I had a 401k and a savings account. My parents still lived in Longview, which meant somewhat frequent trips to The Pine Curtain. America was not (technically) at war. I smoked a good deal of pot. I was not a mother to anything other than a Siberian husky and an old, grumpy cat. I'd never been to Wisconsin, Michigan, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Oregon, or New Mexico. I didn't know what "genetically modified organisms" or "organic integrity" meant. My dad and stepfather were still alive. I had no tattoos.
Seven.
Today is my 7th Bloggiversary. When I started this blog, I was quite a bit younger, skinnier, and had flaming red hair. I'd been pretty beaten up by life. The world had changed because of 9/11. I drove a VW wagon that was my first V-6. I lived alone in a house rented from a friend that had a great deck and a tiny kitchen. I was dating, but it was nothing serious. I had a 401(k), a savings account, and stock options. I still had all of my reproductive organs and thyroid in tact. I had lots of free time, saw lots of movies and went out a pretty fair amount. America was at war in the Middle East. My grandfather and father had died. My stepfather was in long-term care because of a surgery recovery that had gone awry. There was no Facebook or Twitter. I was about to purchase my first iPod. Everyone was freaking out about the upcoming presidential election. I smoked pot, but only occasionally. Katrina hadn't happened. I'd started the international adoption process, but hadn't yet been matched with a baby. I was a mother to an old, grumpy cat, and a young, orange butterball cat. That summer, I'd ridden to the hospital in an ambulance because I collapsed at work due to stress. I'd also attended my second (and last) ACL Fest. I had one tattoo, but no facial piercings.
One thousand one hundred and fifty.
This is my 1,150th post. I am older, fatter, and blonde-ish gray. My hair is curly, longish and layered. Life and I have agreed to a tense truce. The world is divided, bitter, dangerous and filled with selfish and stunning intolerance. I drive a VW convertible that isn't even 1/2 way paid for. I have over 17,000 songs in my iTunes and on my iPod. I live with my husband, daughter, two cats, a dog, a leopard gecko and, occasionally, my stepsons in a house I bought on my own that has a great deck and a tiny kitchen. I have a 401(k), savings account, Roth IRA account, 529 account and stock options. Everyone is freaking about the upcoming presidential election and the Occupy movement. I Facebook and am on Twitter...a lot. I have no free time and almost never see movies. I only go see live music of bands I really love and only if I am guaranteed good seats. America is still at war in the Middle East with no end in sight. My stepfather is dead. My mother is remarried and no longer lives in Longview, so I rarely go to the Pine Curtain any more. Last week, I got physically ill because of work stress. I have one tattoo and my nose is pierced.
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