Here are the first ten that came to mind:

1.  Knows what you need without being asked, sometimes better than you do.
2.  Lets you be you.
3.  Is her/himself around you.
4.  Can share silence comfortably.
5.  Doesn't always have the answers, but always listens to the questions.
6.  Calls you on your stuff.
7.  Celebrates your successes with you and helps you through the failures.
8.  Has a nice, comfy shoulder.
9.  Provides perspective.
10.  Lets you know you're not alone.

My true friends may or may not be integral parts of my life at all times, but they are always there - in my thoughts, in my heart - and when we need each other, we reach out without hesitation. 

I try to include luxury in my life wherever possible. 

How do I define luxury?  To me, luxurious things can be a small and simple.  An afternoon with no plans.  A small skein of cashmere to knit into little mitts.  A high quality cup of cocoa.  Luxury is anything that allows me to relax and enjoy it.  It doesn't necessarily cost any money at all.

I would have been a storyteller.  Just like now!

I may have needed a sex change, though.

Fiber arts.  I've gone back to school several times already, resulting in an MFA in the performing arts, and a certificate in health counseling.  Acting has lent itself nicely to my writing.  But my creativity is beginning to seek its outlet in knitting.  I'm fascinated.  The more I play, the more I learn about how different fibers behave and what is possible, from color choices, to twist, drape, I could go on and on.  I can imagine immersing myself in fiber.

This morning.  The alarm had rung for the first time.  My pug was snuggled in his early morning spooning position.  I wasn't sure if my husband was awake.  So I whispered, "I don't want to get up."

It would have been a perfect moment, except that I had to get up.  And I had to pee.

I just finished reading "The Magicians" by Lev Grossman. 

I kept thinking I knew what it was about, and it kept surprising me.  All the way to the very last paragraph, actually.  It uses Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia and others of the genre to tell a story about life.  And being what you are.  And learning and growing.  It asks whether you can go back again.  And what will happen to Peter Pan if he truly never grows up.  And what if he does.

It's a really good book.  I recommend it.

I've been trying to write a post about the power of positive thought.  It was to be an in-depth look at some of the arguments for and against.  It was supposed to be a way for me to become clear about what I thought.  Positivity has been coming up a lot lately - on a blog I follow, in Barbara Ehrenreich's new book, in all the media attention thereto.  (BTW, I haven't read Ms. Eherenreich's book.  I did see her interviewed on The Daily Show, though.)  Then, last night I got more bad news.  I am positive I don't like that.

There are now four people in my life who have been diagnosed with life-threaghtening things.  And many more who are affected by these diagnoses, as I am.  I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me.  Four times. 

And to keep myself from sinking down underneath the sadness and the fear, and setting up residence there, I need to list some things I am grateful for, and which are going well.

1.  I have a loving husband who is with me in all of this.

2.  I am healthy.

3.  I have two adorable dogs who make me smile - sometimes in spite of myself.

4.  I have a job.

5.  I have a new knitting group, where I get to just sit in the company of like-minded people and ply my craft.

6.  I have great friends, who will listen when I need to talk, and let me be silent when that's what I want.

7.  I am a Reiki Master.  There is something I can do.

It does help to write this list.  If this is what is meant by positive thinking, then yes, I subscribe.  I'll leave the science, the cause and effect, the blaming-the-victim arguments for later.  Thinking about good things, positive things, in the midst of all of this helps.

Tomorrow, ranting and screaming and punching inanimate objects may be what I need.  We'll see.

Yes.  Both curious as in wondering about things and curious as in odd.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't so curious.  I could glide through my day, only encountering what I expect, never wondering what's behind door number 2, not attracting any attention.  Having received the memo that everyone else seems to know about. 

To be curious means, I think, in part, to be dissatisfied with the status quo.  To want more. 

It's also exciting, adventurous, glamorous even.  We'd still be grunting at each other in caves if humans weren't curious.

Besides, being curious gives me something with which to occupy myself while I sit at a desk in a too-cold office all day with nothing much interesting to do.  So being curious keeps me sane.

Okay, I'm glad I'm a curious person.  And I have a curious dog, too.  Meet Curi (Curious) Quinoa Hoppy Rabbit:

There seems to some kind of biological imperative whereby my brain must take a vacation every six months.  It happened in January, and now July.  It just refused to make things happen.  Only wanted to be fed with stories.  Simple stories - all plot, action, very little else.  The kind of books I want to hide in brown paper and not admit to reading.  Me, whose favorite authors are A.S. Byatt and Doris Lessing and Joyce Carol Oates.  Updike.  Dickens.  Tolstoy.  Suddenly I'm shopping in the mystery aisle.  Something I haven't done since I was in my teens.  What is that about? 

If I look at it deeply, maybe it's about rebellion.  My brain rebelling against having to work a day job.  Rebelling against atrophy.  Against constant interuption and boring, computerized tasks. 

Or maybe it's just hormones.  You can blame most things on hormones, can't you?

Knitting garter stitch shawls is also good right now.  I've put the fiddley, lacey scarf away.

The sun.