I am once again in the South. It's hot and sticky here, and I've already acquired a fine collection of pink, puffy mosquito bites on my arms and legs. I've moved into a lovely old house which I will share with other graduate students. It has a backyard full of bamboo shoots and warbling birds, and a front porch with columns and rocking chairs. My room has a high ceiling, large windows, and a ceiling fan which does not work. Now, how to decorate? What aesthetic suits my current incarnation of self? (That previous sentence, by the way, was so Me circa 1999).

My mother helped me move in, and as usual, doused my room with holy water, even though it was not facing the dreaded direction of north. My previous residence in this city had a doorway which faced north, and she was convinced that all kinds of terrible things happened to me because of this. Mold, fevers of unknown origin, bad grades, traumatic hospital experiences...all a result of my northward doorway, which prevented evil spirits from escaping the room. I suppose she was taking no chances with my new residence, because she tossed holy water around the room not once, but three times. She got a few splashes on me, but it didn't burn. So perhaps I'm not as evil as I thought I was.

I also picked up on a few of her curious phrases which I had either not noticed before, or forgotten. She kept saying "neighbor" instead of "neighborhood"...as in, "I like this neighbor, it's very peaceful." I was momentarily confused, because we had not met any of my neighbors. Also, when I complained about her making noise in the early morning, she said, "My noise is nothing compared to the other noises I heard all night long. Those noises were tiger, this noise is mouse." For some reason, she uses mice and tigers to describe degrees of strength.

My cousin took me out for an early birthday dinner, and one of her gifts was among the most hilarious things I've ever received. It's a stuffed hamster doll dressed as a doctor with a white coat and stethoscope. When you press its foot, it emits a blast of guitar rock and roll music, before it sings, "Whoooooooa, Doctor, doctor, gimme the news, I got a bad case of lovin' you. No pill's gonna cure my ill, I got a bad case of lovin' you." That's Robert Palmer, in case you didn't know. I don't remember the last time I laughed so hard because of something so silly.

It actually is kind of nice to be back. I don't know if I'll be singing the same tune once I return to the wards on Monday, but for now, it's nice. I still keep a wary eye out for exes, though. I admire those who are able to stay friendly and civil with exes, but I don't think I'm emotionally mature enough for that. I tend to freeze, quickly fumble for sunglasses to shield my eyes, take out my ponytail holder to shake my hair over my face, and turn my head away as I walk quickly for cover. In short, I treat exes like celebrities would treat paparazzi.