Aug 31, 2006

SEATTLE, Washington –  I bite the regulator and take a drag. My first sip of sterile air is dry and cold and characterless.

Nevermind. I'm breathing underwater.

Calm and elation swirl through me. And I'm gone. Lost. Smitten. I haven't felt this way in 13 years, since I first climbed in the North Cascades.

My pin number commemorates the date of my first rappel.

Where will today's date surface, I wonder?


  1. Anonymous5:30 PM

    What about the 20-year-old who asked you out that night? Doesn't he get a mention?

    Share with the rest of the class, Miss Amanda...

  2. Nothing to tell, my friend.

    It's not that type of blog anyway.

  3. most posts, please! ;) even if you write about TFI Friday's in Kent or something. i love your writing.

  4. I can probably manage something more exciting...

    Thanks for the props, m'dear.

    Everyone else – all three of you readers – check out Michelle's blog, the Anti 9-to-5 Guide. You too can learn to slack profitably like us...

    (Though maybe we're not the best poster-girls at the moment, working 20-hour shifts here). Ax.

  5. Anonymous12:16 AM

    Why such long hours?

    Why do you do these things to yourself?

    Just kidding, just kidding.

    Yours in freelance pain, S.

  6. Anonymous6:51 AM

    Nothing like the first time.

  7. Why the midnight oil? Book deadlines are running me ragged.

    I'm also experiencing slight romantic turbulence, which helps matters not at all.

    Nuff said, because – altogether now – it's not that type of blog... Ax.