I called a local florist in my mother's town in Arizona on May 2nd and scheduled a very expensive arrangement to be delivered to her on Saturday, May 13th. I also asked that they called me to confirm its delivery. Despite the fact that they happily charged my credit card the same day I called, the flowers were not delivered and no one called me nor my mother about it. I didn't find out about this until I called her on Mother's Day and asked if she liked the flowers, to which she replied, "What flowers?" Thus ensued some Pretty Righteous Fury.

But this is actually not a story of divine wronged-consumer vengeance. I left the lady a furious message Sunday night, but once the flowers were delivered on Monday--an incredible arrangement, my mom said, that came with profuse apologies--and I actually spoke to the store owner on the phone Monday afternoon, it was hard to stay angry at her. In fact, I almost felt guilty, despite how she'd messed up something so important to me. All I could think was, This is a woman who's made it her job to make people happy with flowers; why do I need to shit on her just because she made a mistake that she ultimately rectified?

Then I began to wonder why it's so easy (and often enjoyable) for me to go to work every day and throw people out of their apartments over money that's not even mine, yet in situations like this, when my own money's involved, I suddenly become all zen? Is this a good thing, or bad? Or does it even matter?

No answers, just dumb questions.

In other news, my sister's graduation was this past weekend and Evan, I and the whole extended family turned out to her place on Sunday to celebrate. She got her second Masters and is now doing something she really loves. I'm as thrilled for her as I am jealous of her. This was also, coincidentally, the one-year anniversary of my own graduation. Sometimes I look back on everything I've done since then and I marvel; other times I feel like I've completely wasted the whole damn year. (Another, far minor note on the subject of anniversaries: I forgot to note in mid-April when this journal turned five years old. I'm amazed it's lasted this long, frankly.)

Since my nightly workouts at home have largely plateaued, on Tuesday night I mustered my courage and joined a good (though perhaps faltering) local gym. Evan was generous enough to show me all the machines and help me work out (haha get it?) a routine to do three times a week. Things are in motion, baby! I'm finally getting into the shape I've always wanted.

Tomorrow's my first solo workout, so I'm heading to bed. I'll need all the energy I can get.