In the classroom I teach in there is a globe broken in half. One half rests on Africa the other half cradles on Mexico. The globe sits on this shelf by the door next to the tissue box, a box of stale Saltines and a spiral notebook with the cover falling off.

Every time I tell my students to journal they do it in complete silence. And while they do this, I stare at the globe. The way it looks like an orange sliced in half. How, for the last four weeks I have been in the classroom, the globe has not been touched or even attempted to be put back together. Or how, when I pointed it out to a student one time when they asked me what I keep staring at, she said: "Yah, that's what my world feels like."

I grew up with globes that were always put together. They spun really fast when I would take my fingers and force them in a direction. I would close my eyes and slam my finger randomly on any point. The globe would halt and under my finger print would be some body of water or land mass where I would announce: "This is where I will totally go one day when I am rich and awesome." It was what I did to escape fifth grade or seventh grade or even high school. It was a way I told myself that one day I would make it and be in that place I always wanted to be in... somewhere far from where I was... somewhere better for me. The world, when I was younger, seemed so flawless... so attainable... so easy to hold.

But globes can't spin when they are in pieces.

So, the other day I bring super glue while the kids were at lunch. It was the kind that sets as soon as you smooch whatever you are gluing instantly. I grab the globe and set it in my lap trying to line the crack perfectly. England's half touching it's other. Antarctica starts meeting up along the bottom. I struggle with trying to match up Russia. I uncork the glue and trying to cleanly mesh the seam. But the globe keeps slipping--the glossy coating slides against my jeans. And just when I think I have one part holding steady, the bottom starts slipping out... the globe falls back in to pieces.

After fifteen minutes, I give up and put the globe back on the shelf. Defeated, I now ignore the pieces as I walk in and out of the classroom.

When you're twenty-five, it's funny how much different the world can look.

Hold two puppies at the same time. PUPPIES!!!!!!!!

You can watch this music video over and over again because cold medicine and lack of sleep make it even more trippy than it probably actually is:

You can see how long your beard can get since you haven't left the house in two days and really shaving is another step a 101 degree fever doesn't have time to do.

You can watch Sex and the City from the very first season and sigh at the end of each episode because even in your haze of not eating in a few days, you still can recite almost every line in perfect timing and you still laugh at all your favorite parts as if you've never seen the show before.

You can call people with your raspy voice and leave voicemails not saying who you are and leave people guessing who you are because you sound nothing like yourself at all.

You can figure out your neighbor's schedule. He gets up at 7am and then takes a fifteen minute long shower and flushes the toilet and then walks around his apartment for a half hour and then is gone until about 6pm and then makes his calls as you can hear him laughing or yelling or chatting and then he watches t.v. and goes to bed around ten. You will hear this perfectly because you will have nothing better to do.

You can read the magazines that you've been buying, but letting pile up because you have been working here or meeting these people here or writing this for that or editing this for that. Plus, magazines are good because they are short and when you are sick you nap every 3.5 seconds. Thank God for editorials that last only a page and a half or I would get nothing done.

You can journal. You can write stuff while hopped up on medicine and lack of sleep and then the next day you can come back to it and say to yourself in that raspy voice you are prank calling people with "What the hell did I write?"

You can have your laptop on your lap and even respond to emails because if you don't respond to some peoples' emails they think you are dead and then it's that whole Tom Sawyer thing where he fakes his own death and then falls through the rafters at his own funeral while his Aunt Polly is delivering a eulogy or something... except it's nothing like that because I'm not dead or faking death I just wanted to use a Tom Sawyer reference right now.

You can update your myspace profile and facebook profile so it shines to perfection and then realize no matter how sick you are, doing this has just wasted seven million seconds of your life.

You can contemplate all the things you are going to do in the future that will take better care of yourself so you don't wind up in this situation again.

Then you can think about how much you want to go out and have a glass of wine... or three.

Because I love each and every one of you equally if not exactly the same, I wanted to share with you my latest published story in NO TOUCHING MAGAZINE. It's a great magazine. It was a great launch party and, um, I think it's a great story. But I can say that... because, it's my story and it can be great if it wants to.

READ IT HERE

At a drugstore Valentine's Day aisle around the corner from my apartment:

Mom: Which Valentines do you want?
Boy: These.
Mom: Hello Kitty ones? Those... those are kind of girly. How about... Spiderman?!
Boy: Nope.
Mom: How about Transformers?
Boy: No.
Mom: Snoopy?
Boy: No.
Mom: Harry Potter?
Boy: No.
Mom: You really want the Valentines that are made for girls?
Boy: Yes.

Mom and boy turn down the toothpaste aisle. I give the little boy an imaginary high five for sticking to his guns... like any little boy who likes girly things should.

Because while making these:

I was listening to my ipod. Here's the thing about my ipod... we don't tend to think alike. So, there is theory people have that your ipod can sort of sense what you are feeling. Then, when you hit shuffle, the ipod takes you on an emotional journey while holding your hand--like a lovely uplifting encouragement card at Hallmark--and you bond on the fact that a computer generated playlist is as if you were creating it in your very own at that moment.

My ipod and I don't have that.

See, my ipod is cool. It works. It does it's job. But we aren't friends. We never have been. I think I got one without a heart. If I'm sad it plays the wrong music--something usually really rough and aggressive--punk rock almost. If I'm really excited and ready to take on the world... it plays something like Snow Patrol that, while great, is just not right for a moment when you are taking on the world. Taking on world music is something like Janet Jackson's "Control" or Journey's "Don't Stop Believing".

I've given my ipod many chances to spoon me in its music choices. Seriously, man, I've played it on shuffle while at the gym... Damien Rice comes on. Who works out to slit -your-neck music? Or, when I am on the crowded el and this guy that has breath that reeks of Dorritos... that he at three months ago... you need positive music. You know, something jumpy and beat driven that will say to you: "You'll survive this moment, I'll get you through this!" And my ipod should race through the thousands of songs I have and play something that will keep me not passing out. Nope. Tori Amos.

I've given up. "Yo, ipod, you win. I'll do my own DJ-ing." I've thought while letting it shuffle while I'm in the shower and only hearing Christmas music... in the middle of June. And we've been fine since. I have no expectations out of it and it has no expectations out of me. Like a dried up marriage, I'm happy with it... but the oh-my-god-can-we-please-have-a-spontaneous-moment-of-brilliant-ear-sex-with
-music-you-have-chosen-and-I-don't-have-to-create-myself moments in a really long time.

But then today. I wasn't in to the mood to pick any artist in particular. So, I said:

"OK, ipod. I'm not in the mood to deal. So, screw me over with your selfish choices of tunes and I will make my Valentine's to whatever you have in mind."

And then it happened. It was as if everything I've ever known about my ipod had been something I made up. My ipod played... really good Valentine/Love songs while I cut and pasted and drew my cards.

Really! I'm not joking here. It's as if the ipod finally got it. If we want to really enjoy ourselves together... we have to work together. We have to prove to each other that we believe. Ipod realized that Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday... and what better time to prove its love for me.

The list it played:
"I Believe In A Thing Called Love" The Darkness
"Constant Craving" K.D. Lang
"Magic Moments" Perry Como
"Something About Us" Daft Punk
"On Your Side" Pete Yorn
"Love Hangover" Diana Ross
"This Woman's Worth" Maxwell
"If I Can't Have You" Zero 7
"Love Me, But Leave Me Alone" Jewel

I know! I am not shitting you! It played in that order with no control on my part at all. The first two songs played and I laughed a little. I thought I was getting my leg pulled... then the third... the sixth... and then it was the last and I was flipping my shit out. I was doing it! I was at one with my ipod. This mythical experience I only thought was a Apple ploy to get people to want to be in love with ipods was true.

It was amazing.

The cold is making me lose my mind.
Just humor me.

I'll admit it. I kind of cried a little.

So, yesterday I held a baby that was 1.5 days old at a hospital. And for that thirty-five minutes of holding a 1.5 day old baby looking at little finger nails and tiny baby yawns, I realized that holding a 1.5 day old baby might be on my list of top five greatest things to ever get to do in life. So, now my list might go like this:

1) Accept yourself for exactly who you are
2) Having someone say they love you and you say it back because you really truly mean it.
3) Hold a 1.5 day old baby
4) Skinny dip
5) Have a mentor and being someones mentor and actually changing their lives

And as I left the hospital walking down Michigan Avenue dodging busy people who had not just held a 1.5 day old baby, I realized that at 25.5 years old to1.5 days old we are are exactly the same no matter how many years are between us. There are so many things we get to do and sometimes you are lucky to realize how lucky you are-- in that exact moment-- to get to do the things you are doing.