Is it sad that I realized that it was halfway through the summer and I hadn't sustained any bruises, my nails were growing long and I was painting them (this was making me seem girly, and I'm not ready for that yet), and that I hadn't really gotten my fill of second-hand smoke? I'm spending the week at my old job volunteering and in 3 days, received 10 bruises (running with chairs, if you must know) inhaled 2 or 3 cigarettes through walking from the dressing rooms to the theatre (for the record, I am not a smoker, although I get some sick pleasure from getting it secondhand, it reminds me of theatre and theatre is home for me), and I'm pissed that I have yet to break a nail.

And I'm loving every minute of it.