24 hours.

today i woke up and my fingers were all bloated. i know this because my ring was harder to get over my knuckle than normal.

and then i went downstairs and made coffee. french press. a cup for me and a cup for b. with organic half-and-half and agave.

while it brewed, i checked all the sites i check first thing every day.

i found out that it might rain tonight. and tomorrow.

then i took a shower, got ready for work, kissed my dog, said, "hey, puja" to the cat and went off.

off to a new desk in a new cube in a new office flanked with new windows and light and life.

monday, i'll bring in a few things of my own.

my thesaurus.

a photo or two.

maybe my plant.

or a poster.

my best of show addy.

at work, i wrote and thought and listened to the elliot smith station on lastfm.

and found this really great site where artists cover leonard cohen and INXS songs.

and walked to the drug store and to get a salad and back.

which is when the wind nearly blew me into the street.

and i almost got hit by a car.

true story. but not in that order.

tonight i'll enjoy a glass (or two) of wine. an hour (or two) of tv. maybe a walk. maybe a run.

and tomorrow is friday.

back to the grind.

i started my new job on monday. i already have a bunch of projects. it's great. no, seriously, it is. the best part about my first day was that so many people stopped me to say, "hey, jessi! welcome back!"

how often do you already know a lot of people at your official first day as a full-timer? so great.

i'm just now finished working for the night. and b is outside grilling a turkey burger for me and a salmon burger for him.

i mean, my husband is outside making me dinner.

only, he's still working.

and i'm inside blogging. and waiting for him to come in so we can watch american idol on the dvr.

confession: on our honeymoon, we did not miss an episode of american idol. and it was not always my idea.

i love him.

i can't have nice things.

i got these great "sweatpants" from lucky. great. like, fitted around the parts where they should be fitted with an amazing flared leg. and they are comfortable. and perfect for running errands or sleeping or going to the gym.

they were perfect for exactly two days.

on the third day, on the plane back to kansas city, i dropped bits of chocolate on them.

then, yesterday, i took the lid off the tupperware of pesto i made the day before, and it landed, dirty-side-up, on my new amazing sweatpants.

and this morning, i've already spilled coffee on them twice.

my middle name is messy.

and i can't have nice things.

my sister takes good photos.

paparazzi.

my flower girl.

this was the day she got her nails done. the next day, she tossed flowers down the aisle with gusto.

the blue shoes.

we said, i do.

fate.

the first time he saw me, walking down the hall at work, he tried to say hello. i avoided eye contact. he thought i was a bitch. i just wasn't paying attention.

then one day i told him that the printer talked to me.

hi, i'm jessi, my middle name is awkward.

he says that's what changed everything for him.

who was this girl who could joke about the printer like that. to him, a stranger.

he had to know more.

and saturday, we're getting married.

what i know about bats.

if you wake at 2 a.m. to find a bat flying around the living room, don't lose sight of it. don't get a towel and begin to swat at it. just be quiet, wait and watch. this won't be easy.

if you lose it, you may not see it again for days. animal control will try and fail to find it. you will feel uncomfortable, get the cat's rabies shot updated and lose sleep.

until you see it again the next night, swooping through a room you've now locked it in.

animal control will get it this time. and though you'll think it's over, don't give in to the sense of comfort whispering in your ear. just don't.

because about a week later, you could be in the kitchen packing lunch for the next day when something catches your eye. another bat. swooping in the living room. you'll scream. shriek. scream again, yelling "BRAD OH MY GOD THERE IS ANOTHER BAT." but you shouldn't do that. because it will be scared. and will, somehow, crawl under the floor molding to hide.

you'll then call animal control as you set up camp outside the bat's hiding place. you've learned not to lose a bat. so you'll sit. you'll drink a beer. you'll listen to the championship game. you'll eat a snack. and you'll wait and wait and then, about three hours later, you'll notice another bat trying to get in through the fireplace screen, which you duct taped to the wall just minutes before.

this is when it's handy to have two people in the room. one will take a broom and hit the bat trying to get through the screen until it retreats and you can reinforce the duct tape. the other will keep a flashlight pointed at the one hiding under the molding.

then, when you can hardly keep your eyes open any longer (it's probably 1 a.m.), animal control will show up. bat number two will be removed from the molding with an industrial-sized shop-vac that you purchased last summer at a garage sale for $25 because it's missing a wheel. this won't be animal control's idea. it, instead, was concocted over the last four hours in your brain-gone-batty. but it will work, allowing you to attempt to get some sleep in the bedroom you've bat-proofed by stuffing towels under the door and putting tape over the vent.

because, don't you know, bats can squeeze through openings as small as a dime.

the next morning you'll wake up to find the fireplace screen bat still alive and still trying to make its way in. so you'll stand there screaming and panicking while you're significant other tells you he can't help you because he is late to work. so you'll panic more and call six critter control companies. the one that can come the soonest will win the job.

that company will be ardvark.

two hours later, a miracle worker will arrive at your door. he'll kill the fireplace screen bat. and then he'll look down into your chimney from the top. the next thing that comes out of his mouth will shock you.

"there are about 30 bats down there hanging out in the fireplace," he'll proclaim.

you'll be sent outside to watch the bats fly out of the chimney as he lights a small fire to smoke them out. you won't see them leave, but he will assure you that they are gone. he'll climb up to the top of the chimney to double check both sides again. no bats. he'll tell you you'll be happy now. and that you can sleep. you'll believe him.

he'll put a temporary cap on the side of the chimney that didn't have one. and he'll give you his business card, which you will hold close to your heart as he leaves because he killed the trapped bat with his gloved hands and then let each bat, one for each year you've been alive, out.

thirty bats.

gone.

for about $200 and 20 hours of lost sleep.

finally, spring.