It's Friday night, and I'm still sitting here in Starbucks after submitting my latest assignment for the graduate course I'm currently taking. The weight of the week is settling in my eyelids, and I have a race in the morning, but I'm not quite ready to go back home and climb into bed. This is one of those moments when I wish the rest of the world operated on my schedule, but it doesn't, so I figured I'd hop on here with a little update because...well...my BFF, the Internet, seems to always be there for me when I need it. I've been really bad about updating the blog, and it's partially because I've been so unbelievably busy trying to tread water at work that I haven't even had the time to run or wash dishes or even write. It's also because I feel the need to pull back a little and share a little less. This applies more to my personal life with my friends, but apparently, the effects are evident here as well. I'm hoping to find a corner of

A few months ago, I asked a friend which three famous people from history he would like to meet--you know, in the event that we discover black holes really are portals for time travel. One of the people he mentioned was the South American poet, Pablo Neruda , because he wanted to ask him how he was able to say "te amo" so easily. The conversation that ensued about the ease of which those words roll off our tongues has been stuck in my head ever since. Like anyone else who has walked through the path of divorce, mine has been a path of self-exploration. I've spent a lot of time in the last year and a half exploring my thoughts and feelings on love and marriage. This path has challenged much of what I used to believe and, at the same, brought me new insights into the exhilaration, comfort, and perils of two people trying to forge a piece of their lives together. What I've discovered is that the words "te amo" tend to roll of my tongue fairly easily, but not al