Signs of slipping standards, according to my Twitter account.

"Well, at least if we fail at this whole school thing we know we have promising careers as air band members."

"Is it sad that our standard is feeling like the living dead rather than the dead dead?"

She knew it probably made her seem crazy. And not in the way her other little quirks made her seem crazy. No, this was a public kind of crazy. This wasn't talking-to-her-plants, sleeping-with-a-teddy-bear, matching-her-socks-to-her-outfit crazy. This was more like talking-to-herself-on-the-subway, taking-her-teddy-bear-to-work, asking-other-people-whether-their-socks-matched-their-outfits crazy. Not that she ever talked to herself on the subway or brought Teddy to work or inquired about strangers' socks. At least not often.

She likes to wear silk pyjama pants with the rattiest tank top she can find. There is something about the juxtaposition of two very different kinds of comfort that delights her.