In order to ease my way into a new time zone, I have started going to bed at 4 a.m. Staying up all by myself isn't easy--I haven't resorted to porn (yet)--so I've devised a nightly ritual. This is what the kitchen table looked like ten minutes ago.

As you can tell, I'm more awkward fiddling with a camera than posing in front of one. But you can see that my first knitting project--a crudely stitched scarf--is coming along quite steadily. Yesterday's Appeal-Democrat goes unread (why do I even bother?) beneath my knitting bag. And I'm drinking my third cup of tea--Tazo Sweet Orange--in my favorite coffee mug. What's missing is the slab of Mud Pie I devoured within a minute that is making my insides churn. Forget I'm slightly lactose-intolerant. Before going to bed, I have to have ice cream with my hot drink. All my health-nut paranoia, thrown out the window over this job search.

Twelve hours ago I told my supervisors about my new job. I got emotional, once again. You could see it in their eyes: Awkward! The night before I told my mom that telling my coworkers would be the hardest part, and it was. I don't think I've ever bonded with a group of people in such a short period of time.

I've written a long and rather personal post about the coworkers I've grown to call friends. But now that they know about my blog--my choice--I'll reserve that for a later date. I don't want to get too mushy while I still have two weeks left at the bank. The IP department, while the most supportive round of individuals you'll ever meet, still enjoys taking jabs. (I'll miss that, too.)

Speaking of closely knit relationships, last night I received a call from my best friend from elementary and middle school, W. We haven't spoken since we were in high school. I didn't even know who she was for two minutes. If contacting me right after I've announced my plans for South Korea isn't a sign that ours is a lifelong friendship, I don't know what is.

As I gabbed my way through the crafts section of Wal*Mart, I felt as if we'd kept in touch everyday for the past ten years. In spite of our social anxieties--we have made progress when it comes to socializing with the everyday folk, but my shyness is still an obstacle--we were able to divulge on every aspect of our lives, our trials and comforts, our plans and doubts for the future.

At the end, she said, "I don't care how long the drive from Cheney to Seattle is. I am going to meet you at the airport. (My flight might stop in Seattle for a few hours.) You're leaving and who knows when we'll have another chance to see each other." I feel bad because she'll have school the next day, but after that heart-to-heart, why wouldn't I feel desperate to see one of the few people who could really understand me? The only friend I have left from my childhood? I hunger for companionship--whether it be romantic, platonic or one-sided.

I want to keep writing, but my just-awakened father is giving me a suspicious eye and silently contemplating what I'm doing at this ungodly hour. More later.