When life hands you lemons ...

... You drink citrus lemon drops.

I haven't updated in almost three weeks, and that's a good thing.

I never thought I'd be at the point where I could say this, but I have declared myself normal once again. After I went on my zen quest, I actually started sleeping through the night, and my stress level seemed to be decreasing. And I'm not saying that there won't be bad days (don't ask about Mother's Day) or stress to come, but right now, I feel like a normal human being again. I even bought my friends fancy Whole Foods cupcakes to commemorate the occasion. And I am so relieved to be feeling this way.

Last night was Brooke's bachelorette party, and while I admit I was a bit apprehensive about going -- I never really did the bar scene in college and therefore have a very low alcohol tolerance, like two drinks and I may profess my undying love to you -- but it turned out to be a great time. Eight of us spent the evening doing a golf-themed bar hop around Queen Anne, including Chopstix, a dueling-piano bar with fabulous strawberry lemon drops and piano players that will even play the WSU fight song if requested, and 10 Mercer, which had very good citrus lemon drops.

And I am madly in love with The Melting Pot, where we went for dinner. We had a four-course dinner that included cheese fondue (heaven in a pot), salad, a main entree of meats and veggies that you cook in different styles in the fondues, and then a chocolate fondue, where you got to dip everything from strawberries to cheesecake. Mmm. The whole night was a blast; it was great to hang out with the other bridesmaids, it was so much fun to celebrate the impending end of Brooke's single days, and honestly, it was so nice to just relax and enjoy myself.

We'll be in the Tri-Cities for her wedding at the end of next month, and then I'm off to L.A. in July. And I'm hoping to still be alive by then. With fewer desk editors now, we have even more to do to get the paper out every day (coughwellsomeofusdocough) and I am also working 11-hour days because Editorial just can't live without me. Or, more accurately, the letters editor is on medical leave for the next few months, and until the intern starts on June 6, I am working three hours a day before I start my shift in News.

Am I insane? Possibly. But I'd be more insane to turn down 36 hours of overtime when I plan to shop in L.A. And with that money, I am going to the real Tiffany on Rodeo Drive. (I maintain that when you've worked so hard for something that you've almost killed yourself, you appreciate it even more, hence my silver J necklace from the Tiffany in Las Vegas, which I bought in January with my OT money from Christmas when I was doing both the Bulldog and Editorial for a week.) And having celebrated my four-year anniversary at The Times last week, I am happy to contribute and continue to learn and grow as a journalist.

So when I am not working at all hours of the day, I am trying to relax and take some time for myself. I have discovered an ability to make cookie-dough truffles and chocolate-covered strawberries, and I actually managed to get up to Bellevue Square and do some shopping, including shoes for Brooke's wedding and some clothes for work and for L.A. at Ann Taylor Loft. Ahh, retail therapy.

And I am also writing. I finally managed to get around my (apparent) psychological block on "This Ain't a Love Song" Chapter 15 and finished it only (cough) two months after the previous chapter. And honestly, I wouldn't have even finished 15 if people hadn't been gently pushing (threatening) me. Now I am working on Chapter 16, and it is going a lot easier to finish in a reasonable amount of time because it's a lot lighter -- I cannot say the same about Chapter 17, which is going to be incredibly hard to write, and could turn out to either be the best -- or the worst -- thing I have ever written. I admit I was equally concerned about "Rain," which I consider my proudest piece of work. But I'm not going to think about it now. After all, it could wreck my state of zen.

And, as I sit here eating puffed-pastry bites with brie and caramelized onions and watching "Knocked Up," I see that zen is not a bad way to be. Not bad at all.