A special occasion.

It's my Monthaversary. I say this in jest, because one of my more prolific rants involves the topic of people who try to make anniversaries out of totally inappropriate moments and dates. But, whatever.

A month ago today, I flew to New York with two large suitcases, a duffel bag, and one smaller suitcase. I landed, I took a cab, I wrestled all of those things from the cab to my stoop, from my stoop to my elevator, and eventually into my apartment.

I then wrestled them to my bedroom, which was half the size that I remembered. I can still recall the first moments when I stood there, surrounded by my suitcase entourage, silently panicking and wondering what I'd gotten myself into.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of Bed Bath & Beyond, pizza, diners, and John's couch. It was snowing and cold and wet and slushy.

Today, it was (relatively) warm and sunny. I slept in, then regained consciousness and discovered that I was still Sick. I was determined, however, that I would not ensconce myself in the apartment for two days in a row, feeling like crap be damned. I showered, I got dressed, and I trekked to midtown to watch the Texas-Miami game with a few friends.

Texas pulled it off (after stressing me out significantly toward the end of the game). I stopped in Borders on my walk back to the train, picking up a few books and people watching (no more walking past Madison Square Garden while the circus is in town). I finished off my day with soup and Sudafed and movies (and really feeling like even more crap).

I can't believe it's been a month. The time has flown, and I feel as though the past four weeks exist in one very blurry day.