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I had an email from The Program this morning requesting a copy of my birth certificate. They have copies of my passport, so I'm not sure why they need further proof that I am, indeed, from Decatur (where they pack that heat).

Priority urgent, I am told, so off I go like a good little girl to Kinko's, where I obediently scan and email my State of Georgia Certificate of Live Birth. (I've always wanted to be one of those people who looks at their birth certificate and finds out something exciting like their dad is not their dad, or they have a secret twin, or that their name was incorrectly registered-- that last one applies to my mom, who should lawfully be addressed as Glenida from now on.) But alas, it tells me nothing I didn't already know. How boring.

This bit of urgency aside, I return to my previously scheduled entertainments, which involve laundry, couch-sitting and the occasional shuffling of papers from one folder to another. (Today I punched holes!)