Runs in the family.

What better way to bring on a new day than creamy strawberry yogurt and granola, freshly baked baguette with sweet butter and strawberry jam, as well as one's parents knocking down the apartment door and exclaiming "thank goodness you are alive!"

So I haven't talked to my mother in two-and-a-half days. So they drove two-and-a-half hours from Charlotte to Chapel Hill just to check if I'm alive and not dead in the ditch. You see, the problem is that I'm not married. Apparently, once I'm married, my husband would help check if I'm still breathing everyday. Only then would I be able to take the liberty of only calling every two or three days. Otherwise parents might presume me dead/raped/lost and other horrible things. Apparently, at the baby age of twenty-two, I'm completely incapable of taking care of myself. I apologize to the poor people whom she called repeatedly asking my whereabouts. Mom told me she was on the verge of reporting missing person to the police.

I'm not quite sure how to feel right now: guilt for worrying my mother who just had surgery last week? incredulous at having such crazy parents? hoping I can somehow escape the influence of genetics and not turn out so much like mom? thankful for having parents who love me and who will forever think of me as their little girl? perhaps I'm a little nuts myself, sitting here tediously making teeny rice shaped pellets and molding tree branches and chicken bones out of clay?

I'll ponder on this over some pineapple sorbet and a cup of tea. .