When I write, I usually listen to headphones even if I'm alone so the music can go straight into my head without mingling.

I remember when an old boss gave me an iPod shuffle as a Christmas bonus. It could hold 100 songs, which at the time seemed an insanity of musical abundance and variety.

My current writing playlist has around 500 songs on it, and yet I still hear a lot from Bryan Adams. The last few times I heard "18 Until I Die" (a song most helpful when you're 41 and writing fiction for the 15-23 year-old set) I wondered if Bryan is yet 18 going on 55, like the song says.

I just looked it up. He's 56.

With the cultural and artistic icons we've lost this month, I (like everyone above a certain age) have become acutely aware of the mortality of my youth, of being a young old person on the shallow end of my forties.

And yet I still listen mostly to the music of my youth. I still identify better with 18 than 55, even though I'll be 42 in about two weeks. Thirteen years from 55, 24 from 18.

Holy shit.

Better get out of this cast and get both feet in it.

I spent two hours yesterday like this.

Kizzy has had an extremely tough week. I'm going to write about the whole thing on BlogHer and will add a link here when I do. The good news is he is recuperating and so far hasn't had complications and can take the cone off hopefully Monday.

Somehow my life has become reduced to a rectangle of plastic and glass that I hold in my palm.

When I first got it, I both mourned the actual clickable buttons of the obsolete Blackberry and longed to stroke the smooth glass screen of my brand new iPhone 4.

Now there are days when I want to use the piece of glass to tell the world something, but I tap and I tap and nothing happens. It can reduce an adult human to tears. It's now a 5S. I guess this matters.

Why? When the glass is unresponsive, I feel like a chimpanzee.

Because there is a social expectation now that we will respond, to anyone's request, no matter when it was made.

I take back my boundaries.

I love you, my friends, but the 24/7 nature of communication is more than I can bear, so as not to be rude, I take my leave. I just can't. Keep. Up.

I typed this all out on a little glass box. How odd.

Results for my Rafflecopter giveaway should be available tomorrow. Thanks for playing the YA Scavenger Hunt!

In the past week, my daughter has begged me not to sing when there were no other people in the car because it was embarrassing, accused me of having bad breath and stolen my favorite chair. Twice.

I'm documenting this for my mother.

Payback, Ma. You're getting payback.

My girl will be eleven in a month. She's all fashion and interior design and smelly markers and starlight.

We walked through a toy store today, and I realized she's outgrown all but two of the aisles.

As I explained to Steph how I taught my girl to roller skate when she was the wee one's age, I could hardly believe my own daughter leaving me behind on the ice. I remember wanting to teach her all the things so she wouldn't be as hesitant as I was to take risks as a child. I didn't grow into my capacity until I graduated high school.

After we left the ice rink and drove home, my girl commenting on Zeppelin and asking for a phone yet again, I found myself wondering when her voice stopped sounding like Minnie Mouse. When did she realize my dance moves suck? How intimately does she see my flaws? And how does she love me, anyway?

She asks when she can wear makeup. I say seventh grade. She's never asked that before. Something new is starting to shift even as we discuss the merits of Legoland.

I made that seventh grade shit up on the fly.

I remember how terrifying it was to grow up.

I didn't think about the terror in growing older.

At this point, though, is the comforting knowledge that once you're strapped in and at the top of the hill, the roller coaster's going to drop, no matter how you feel about it.

Ever since we cut the cord a few years ago, I've changed the way I do television. I can't just flip it on and watch. It has to be purposeful. We got Xfinity for the high-speed Internet, but I'm still struggling with TV.

I read a book a week, but sometimes, I just want to watch.

This said, I'm caught up.

I searched for best series of 2014 and started watching How to Get Away With Murder. I just binged The Newsroom and am caught up on Boardwalk Empire, Mad Men, Parenthood, Modern Family, Breaking Bad. I can no longer get True Detective without paying. I've seen Downton Abbey and Orange Is the New Black. I saw Kevin Spacey knock twice on House of Cards.

I want scripted television. I don't do zombies.

What else should I watch?

The week after I got back from BlogHer '14, I started training for the Longview Half-Marathon. Which is tomorrow.

And tomorrow there is this:

JACKSON:

...WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY IN EFFECT FROM 6 AM SATURDAY TO
MIDNIGHT CST SATURDAY NIGHT...

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN KANSAS CITY/PLEASANT HILL HAS
ISSUED A WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY FOR ACCUMULATING SNOW... WHICH IS
IN EFFECT FROM 6 AM SATURDAY TO MIDNIGHT CST SATURDAY NIGHT.

* LOCATION...ALL OF NORTH-CENTRAL MISSOURI AND NORTHEASTERN KANSAS.

* TIMING... SNOW WILL OVERSPREAD THE REGION AFTER DAYBREAK ON
SATURDAY. SNOW WILL THEN CONTINUE THROUGH MUCH OF THE DAY BEFORE
TAPERING OFF BY LATE AFTERNOON OR EARLY EVENING.

* SNOW ACCUMULATIONS...A GENERAL 1 TO 3 INCHES OF SNOW IS EXPECTED
ACROSS THE REGION. ISOLATED HIGHER AMOUNTS MAY BE POSSIBLE ALONG
AND SOUTH OF THE MISSOURI RIVER.

* IMPACTS...ACCUMULATING SNOW AND REDUCED VISIBILITIES WILL RESULT IN
HAZARDOUS TRAVEL ACROSS THE REGION THROUGH MUCH OF THE DAY.

PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS...

A WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY MEANS THAT PERIODS OF SNOW...SLEET...OR
FREEZING RAIN WILL CAUSE TRAVEL DIFFICULTIES. BE PREPARED FOR
SLIPPERY ROADS AND LIMITED VISIBILITIES...AND USE CAUTION WHILE
DRIVING.

And I really, really, really hate being cold.

However. I followed a for-me really hard training program for four months. I only missed one of the training runs in all that time. I ran thirteen miles twice. I ran fourteen miles twice. I ran tempo runs. I ran sprint intervals. I ran up the hills and down the hills, and dammit, I am running 13.1 miles tomorrow come hell or high water (which, you know, could happen).

My plan is to pretend to be Rocky training in Russia. The little angel advised me to wear a lot of lotion. The polar vortex was supposed to wait until November 16 to start. It did not listen.

So, um, wish me luck? I'll be the one wearing 30% more clothing than everyone else and paying absolutely no attention to the 20-degree rule.