Nine years since Grandma died. Nine fucking years. And I forgot to call mommy today. I never forget. But she knows that deep down I am remembering. It is amazing how hard it is to deal with death...you simply never stop missing the person. Of course, in time you miss them less...I don't know...less acutely. But the missing never goes away. In fact, with Grandma it gets deeper...I miss being able to tell her what's going on in my life. I miss introducing her to the important people in my life. Nine years. In these nine years I have moved across the country, had six jobs, had one serious relationship (plus a couple of not so serious ones and a bunch of crushes), completed twelve triathlons - including Ironman, completed three marathons, taken the LSAT, taken the GMAT, owned three cars and three bicycles, lived in five different apartments....and on and on. So many things I wish I could share with her...hear her voice, hug her...I would even let her frost my hair like she always wanted to.

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I can hardly believe that my marathon was a week ago today. It seems like so much longer ago than that. At the same time, NYC Marathon, which I did a year ago, seems like it was just yesterday. Strange how that works.

I am procrastinating. I have to write my application essays but it has been hard to get a groove on so I am stalling. I should not be surprised. What did I expect, applying to Harvard, Stanford, Columbia and Berkeley? One of the hardest things about the essays is that they are forcing me to take an honest look at my life, my career, my passions, my goals. One of the hardest questions - and it's one of the first I decided to tackle - is, "What are three substantial accomplishments and why do you view them as such?" I got two...but the third one is proving to be elusive. And I wonder, is that because I haven't actually accomplished much? Or is it because I don't see some of my achievements as substantial accomplishments? I mean, if I thought it would fly, I would say that one of my substantial accomplishments is having survived my life up to this point. Of course, my survival and the survival of someone who dealt daily with the threat of danger, who was abused physically and/or emotionally, who was disabled, who was poverty-stricken, et cetera, et cetera, does not necessarily compare. Nonetheless, I did survive. Shit, I survived Junior High School 202! I survived Howard Beach! I survived Leo and Maria Marino, Lisa and AnnMarie the bus bullies, and Dianna Migliaccio! Can I write my essay about that? I survived low self esteem and body image issues. I survived my cheating college boyfriend and a number of sex-starved college boys. I survived my grandmother's cancer and her death. I survived near-crippling anxiety. I survived working 7:30am to 2am, five days a week for nine months. I survived an abusive boss. I moved across the country without connections or a job and I survived. I was depressed and I survived. I had three male roommates, I shockingly survived! I was single for three years and I survived! I survived four years of an emotionally stunted relationship. I survived 9/11. I survived Ironman. I made it to 30. And here I am, on my own, surviving 31. So, isn't that a substantial accomplishment?