I wish I had a good camera. I wish I were a good photographer. Because the moon in Scottsdale tonight is brilliant in the literal sense, beaming like a headlight. If I’ve ever seen a moon like that before, I haven’t noticed. My moribund digital camera could never capture the majesty of it. It’s practically daylight outside in the middle of the night.

I took Leo out for his walk, and there was a coyote just strolling down the street. On the sidewalk, sauntering around like it was his damn city. Leo freaked out like a madman, and I picked him up, because I was having visions of Jessica Simpson’s dog’s untimely demise. I could just picture him wiggling out of his collar to chase after that thing. Even after he’d peed twice and we were back in the house, in my bed, he was still growling. He wanted that damn coyote.

I’m back in mild panic attack mode. I haven’t really slept in days. This is my reaction to stress, and transitions are stressful for me. I’m stressed to go back to Seattle. “Sasha, you love Seattle. You absolutely love Seattle,” my wonderful friend Stephen reminded me tonight. And I needed to hear that. I do love Seattle. And I’m going to be just fine when I get back there, and I get settled in, and I’ll forget that I was ever in Arizona to begin with. There’s a lot to look forward to in Seattle, and I have amazing friends that make my life joyful out there, too. So I’m trying to just accept the panic attacks without needing to obsess on them. I’m trying not to worry about whether or not I sleep. I will be fine either way.

I’m not especially big on the concept of a “new year” or “new year’s resolutions.” I’ve given up on the notion that years are “good” or “bad.” Years have good days and years have bad days. There are trends and there are mini-trends, like a stock-market graph, and our reactions to the dips and bounces is almost strictly comparative and rarely absolute. I suppose though, that on years that have trended downward, I’ve approached the new year with hope. There’s value in that.

This year began at a pretty solid low, as did last year. In fact, the past two Januarys and Februarys have been arguably the hardest four months of my adult life. Both years, my life kind of skyrocketed into happiness and possibility after March or so. And I just realized that maybe that’s why I’m so panicked right now. The first couple months of the new year have historically been traumatic for me. My mother believes the body quietly carries memories like that, and it reacts instinctively, without cluing your brain into why it’s reacting. I see the truth in that. See, this is why I write a personal blog. It’s the absolute best way for me to sort out my thoughts and get to the fact behind my feelings.

Leo panics whenever we drive into a parking garage. He’s terrified that he’ll be left in the car. He’s associated the concept of parking garages with abandonment. Most of the time, he gets to come inside with me, wherever I’m going, but his body has this instinctive reaction to parking garages, and he slams himself up against me and screams at such a high pitch I can barely hear anything but the hiss of breath leaving his throat. “It’s okay, baby, you’re coming in with me,” I tell him. “It’s going to be fine.” But he’s not calmed down until he is actually out of the car and at my side. Maybe the end of December is my parking garage, and maybe I ought to approach it this time with a bit more reason than a chihuahua.

The above video montage was created from some insanity that took place on Saturday night and is, in my estimation, totally awesome.

I’ve had a very, very happy month overall. I’ve loved being back home in Scottsdale. I’m sad about leaving.

I’m heading back to Seattle next week. I’ll leave Arizona around the 2nd and then stop in San Diego to hang with friends for a couple days, then do a leisurely drive up the coast to Seattle. I’m very nervous for my return. When I first came to Scottsdale a month ago, it took me a couple of days to find a rhythm. Those days were rough, scary. But in just a month, I’ve created a full-fledged life for myself here. It doesn’t feel like a vacation, adopted life — it feels like a full, complete life that I really enjoy living. I’m nervous to go back to Seattle, to say the least. But I guess the way too look at this is that I’m incredibly malleable in these situations. I have learned exactly what I need to do to build myself a functional, livable life no matter where I am. I don’t make excuses anymore. I just instinctively know what needs to be done and I can take the necessary action. That’s not who I used to be, trust me. It’s cool to witness that sort of growth. I know I’m going to be fine in Seattle, and there’s a lot I’m looking forward to getting back into out there. And, ya know, if after a couple months I’m still unhappy, I’ll just come the fuck back to Scottsdale and stay another month. I’m grateful to have that kind of flexibility.

Christmas was awesome. It was a fantastic Christmas. I am so fortunate to always be a well-adopted Jew at Christmas, with my friends and their families welcoming me into their homes and lives and celebrations and treating me like one of their own. I ate until my stomach felt sick, and then I ate some more. Thank you to the Westlie family and the Ghaswala family for making me the happiest and fattest little Jew-girl on Christmas.

But the real fun came the day after, when we decided to go ice-skating. Video above pretty much sums up the entire day. I tried to do fancy moves and it didn’t come out looking especially graceful. But my ass looks nice in those jeans. Good to know.

I lost my digital camera for over 24 hours. It was terrible. It’s like that entire day is gone forever, utterly unphotographed. It motivated me to clean my room at my dad’s place for only the second time since I’ve been here. I found all sorts of stuff I thought was gone forever! And I’ve only been here a couple of weeks! I am still missing an eye pillow and several socks, but in general it was a productive session.

Geez, I haven’t really posted much on here since Sunday. On Monday, my sister was in town for an entire day, so the whole family had brunch at my mom’s house. My mother and my sister do NOT appreciate having their photos posted on this blog, so here are our family photos from that day:

On Tuesday it RAINED. It was one of the desert storms I have sexual fantasies about, just giant drops of water hurtling down from the sky, like a waterfall or a drive-through car wash. And the whole city’s steeped in the smell of wet creosote all day, the desert mountains framed in swaths of shades of gray, and it’s like there’s something more humble, more malleable, just stiller about the air as you move through it. The background of your life feels clean, washed, quiet, and you can just exist without distractions. Desert storms probably make the top ten of my favorite things in the whole entire world. (Leo is #1 and West Wing is #2.) It doesn’t rain like that anywhere else.

Before we can talk about Wednesday, we need to talk about CrossFit. CrossFit is my newest exercise regime. I started with CrossFit in Seattle after it was determined that my blood sugar was too high, and I grilled a bazillion doctors on how I could ward off full-blown diabetes, and the answer was always “Do cardio. The more intense, the better.” CrossFit’s motto is “Forging Elite Fitness,” but it should really be “For insanely hardcore seasoned athletes who like pain.” This is, of course, not me. But I signed up and I started going to classes because I was under the impression that this would be the sort of intense cardio that the doctors said would, you know, save me from a lifelong debilitating illness. And it’s horrible. It is beyond intense. I’ve never worked out that hard in my life. But I love it. I am completely addicted. I feel like I’m finally on The Biggest Loser! I work out so hard I nearly puke. It has been really empowering for me, realizing that I actually can do these crazy workouts, even if it takes me a little longer than it takes the rest of the people. Also: After I do a CrossFit workout, my blood sugar can get to around 90, which is really quite impressive for someone whose body doesn’t process glucose very well.

What I’ve learned from CrossFit on this trip is that if I’m willing to subject myself to excruciating mental and physical pain for an hour a day, 2-3 times a week, I can eat a whole lot of fattening foods and not gain a whole lot of weight. This was our workout on Wednesday:

1 Mile Run
100 Pull Ups
200 Push Ups
300 Squats
1 Mile Run

Not only did I do it, but I did it in just under an hour (58:50). Not an especially impressive time, but not bad for someone like me, who would never define herself as possessing “elite fitness.” It’s just so mentally daunting. You look at the tasks ahead of you and you’re just in so much fear of them. They seem insurmountable. When, like, realistically, you know your body can do 200 push-ups, even after it’s done 100 pull-ups, but it’s gonna fucking suck. That’s the fear. The fear is a bigger obstacle than your muscles giving out or your joints on fire or your stomach turning. But now that it’s done, I feel like I can do any workout they throw at me. And all their workouts are insane, but suddenly they seem less insane because I know I can do this one.

Anyway. Point is, I did stuff later that day, but I don’t remember it because my mind was distracted by my body, which was still throbbing from the workout I’d done like 6 hours ago. And there are no pictures. But I had dinner with my dad, and then met up with my high-school pals, who continue to be about the most entertaining and amazing people on the planet. I’d tell you more but there are no pictures, so I don’t feel like investing in a discussion of it as though it were real.

My mom and I spent Christmas Eve with Bogucia, a family friend who immigrated from Poland awhile back. Her niece lives in Arizona, too, so she came over with her husband and her adorable kids, and we ate Polish food home-cooked by Bogucia. There was a lot of fish, eggs, salt and mushrooms. It was right up my alley. I ate a LOT. Leo — who wore his Santa suit — enjoyed playing with the kids, the youngest of whom was around 3 years old, and was very good at bouncing around and wrestling and making noises, and Leo immediately recognized this set of characteristics as a subset of the “Appropriate Leo Playmate” set. Basically, Leo assumed this little boy was like the newest Golden Retriever in town, and Leo wanted so badly to be BFFs. He followed that little boy everywhere he went, wagging his tail and jumping and barking. Leo needs to make some more actual dog friends out here.

After that, I swung by Emily’s house to hang out with her and her kids. Her youngest does really well with animals, and Emily got this adorable pic of the both of them:

We also stalked Santa using NORAD’s Santa Tracker. Here is NORAD’s Santa Cam catching Santa approaching Seattle:

What a cool education tool, right? Um, except for the kids couldn’t care less. Emily and were way more interested in it.

It was a stellar Christmas Eve, I’d say, and now I’m just going to finish up some work, get some rest, and wake up to enjoy my squatter’s Christmas like a good little Jew. I hope you are all having a wonderful holiday, whether you’re surrounded by friends and family or have chosen, for sanity’s sake, to sit at home alone and watch every season of Sex and the City on DVD while organizing your nail colors. Both are perfectly acceptable and equally joyful ways to spend this calendar day on which we place so much pressure. Much love and be safe.

I spent Saturday and Sunday at my friend Glen’s cabin in Prescott, about 90 miles north of Phoenix. Glen and his friends Nick and Emily drove up Friday night, and I drove up on Saturday with my friend Erin. Glen, Erin and I went to high school together, and Glen knows Nick from Oxford and Nick knows Emily from USC. WE HAVE ALL BEEN TO A LOT OF SCHOOLS.

Erin was one of my very close friends in middle school. In high school, we were friendly, but we ran mostly in different circles. I always liked and respected her, we just didn’t spend a lot of time together. We’ve seen each other here and there since high school, but we’ve never really had time to talk about anything more than the standard this-is-what-I’m-doing-now spiel. She spent two years teaching English at our old high school, and she’s the one who reached out to me after my favorite teacher — truly a guiding force in my life — passed away earlier this year. She wrote to let me know that an email I’d sent my old teacher had brought her joy in her last weeks of life. That meant the world to me, and Erin has always been the kind of thoughtful, loving and selfless person who would make it a point to let me know about that.

It was really amazing to have that time in the car to get to know her all over again. She’s getting her masters in teaching in New York right now, and just listening to her talk about her experiences with inner-city students and all the theories and practical knowledge she’s acquiring was fascinating, and I found I could apply a lot of it to my own life and my own business. She’s so passionate and excited and dedicated to the field of teaching, and I love seeing friends from my childhood find such clarity in their adulthood.

We got up to the cabin, and met up with Glen, Nick and Emily. I’d met Nick before — aside from being gorgeous, he’s also kind and brilliant and nearly as absurdly well-educated as Glen — but it was my first time meeting Emily, who is definitely my favorite new friend. She’s just one of those people who is such a light it nearly feels tangible. She just radiates joy and confidence and love. After spending ten years in Los Angeles, she’s moved back to her tiny hometown in Kansas to spend time with her family, and the stories of the small-town drama she tells are hilarious. Oh, and she’s featured in the new Richard Simmons video, Sweatin’ for Life. Seriously. You can’t miss her. She’s the curly-haired red-head who draws your eye whenever she’s on camera. In person, her face and her facial mannerisms are freakishly — I mean freakishly — similar to Jayma Mays as Emma Pillsbury in Glee. I adored her.

And then there is Glen. There is no effective way to qualify or describe Glen. You kind of just have to meet him. He has a distinguished and varied educational background — Oxford in London, Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and now a PhD at Emory — and also happens to be one of the funnier people I’ve come across in my life. Everyone’s conversational game is raised when Glen’s around. There is, literally, never a dull moment. There’s always something new to think about, a question posed in a way you’d never considered, a fantastic joke so far from being obvious that you have to check twice to make sure you understand why it’s funny. I’ve heard people say that being around Glen makes them feel stupid. For me, being around Glen makes me feel smart. I remember how far my mind can reach, how it can twist and bend and jump, when it’s pushed. It’s a remarkable and rare quality in a friend.

Glen gave us a tour of Prescott, one of the oldest towns in Arizona and one with great historical value. And then we went to all those old historic bars and, naturally, partied our faces off. The proof is in the photos, and I’ve excluded, as a favor to all, the ones toward the end of the night that scream of drunken sloppiness.

The best part? Pervy Santa. There was a Santa in the bars. I was so excited! I was going to take an adorable picture of myself with Santa! It was going to be lovely and innocent and conjure up memories of my childhood!

This is how our conversation went:

Santa: Have you been a good girl this year?
Me: Yes!
Santa: Have you been nice?
Me: Ummmm …
Santa: Have you been naughty?
Me: I guess I’ve been kind of naughty, yeah.
Santa (grabs me tight): Oh really? Santa likes naughty girls. Santa has enough nice girls.
Me (trying to squirm away): Um, okay.
Santa (refuses to let me go): Santa doesn’t need a nice girl to sit on his lap. Santa needs a naughty girl to sit on his face.
Me: OHHHHHHHH MYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOD. (Turning to my friends) YOU GUYS SANTA JUST SAID SOMETHING VERY NAUGHTY!!!
Santa (still has a death grip on me): It’s our little secret, okay?
Me (pulling away from him with all my might): Okay. Please let me go now.

It was completely horrifying and traumatic and would have been a giant turn-on if the Santa had been hot or anywhere within my age range. He was buff though! Old pervy Santa had giant biceps. I would not want to be a little girl on that dude’s lap, I’ll tell you that.