Escape from Hamiltucky

I'm sitting in a bedroom in my boyfriend's parents' house in Florida, about to leave for yet another beach. Life is good. So far I've been canoeing in the Manatee River (right past an alligator, no less), gone to the beach, visited an aquarium, and gone out on an ecotour of the bay. I'm already dreading the departure Saturday morning for the daily grind of the uninspired graduate student working a job for which she's overqualified. There's also a doctors appointment of doom in my near future, but so far I've been doing a pretty good job of putting the message from my doctor's office, and its ramifications, out of my mind. There will be plenty of time to freak out about it in the relative comfort of the Hamilton apartment.

Life goes by at such a relaxed pace here among the retirees. I don't think I could stand to live among them until I'm a retiree myself, but I would definitely like to live somewhere here in Florida on a permanent basis. It's hard to be pissed off when everywhere you look there's a turtle running toward you (yes, running) or a snowy egret soaring overhead. And don't even get me started on the rhythmic sound of waves breaking gently on the white sand beaches along the Gulf.

R.I.P. Heathcliff

Heathcliff the fantail goldfish died early this morning after a freakishly long life of 3.5 years. Purchased from the Hamilton Meijer at the beginning of his owner's graduate study at Miami University, he resided in Oxford, Hamilton, and Dover. Heathcliff was named after the orphan adopted by the Earnshaw family in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights as well as for the cat featured in a comic strip and, later, an animated series that aired in the mid-1980s. He is survived by tankmates Cathy, Filip, Philip, and Azzy.