Here's my first blog from a year ago:

Ahh well, here it is, the end result of my "mental health day" from my primary job - the unlikely position of being an administrator at a school for massage therapy. I took the day off - after going in and working until 10:30 or so, with the intent of getting caught up on my freelance work as a copy writer, but instead I went to the St. Louis Art Museum and the library - they've moved the big Kabalistic art sculpture of the tree of life down from the Modern Art Gallery and I have to wonder what lengths did they go through to ensure that all the chaotic broken glass ended up in the same arrangement it had upstairs - and why didn't they dust the glass - or did they move it long enough ago that new dust has accrued?

I spent some time with a new Fredrick Church painting - a late work in large scale with small figures in the foreground. Joyce, the old assistant curator told me to watch for that. A guard told me he was blessed, a workman felt embarrassed when I surprised him in a moment of slacking. He was gazing out a second story window at the children sliding down Art Hill post snowstorm. We talked about what the hill was like when we were kids, no hay bales to stop you shooting off into the lake, no fancy fountains running even in the dead of winter. After the Museum I made soup and walked the dog. I did yoga in an effort to gain ground on my expanding waist - yes I did yoga - I guess I'm a metro sexual.
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So, what have we learned in a year? Atkins worked better than yoga and in general I am done with The New Age or The New Age is done with me. The Kabalist Kristallnacht piece at The Art Museum is still quite dusty and I still think about it from time to time. I still procrastinate my freelance work by blogging - as I am doing right now.

Soon I'll be thirty two. I've gone from being underemployed to being unemployed. My father continues to wonder when I'll stop treading water in life and actually commit to something. My mother continues to wonder if I'll ever commit to someone. I continue to wonder if I'll ever be committed. At twenty five Orson Wells had already made Citizen Kane. I'm in my thirties and rarely make my bed.

That's a year in the life of one brachiating Fulcrum Monkey adrift on the seas of providence.