I have to keep telling myself I'm nearly halfway there. Unlike a marathon, NaBloPoMo hasn't chafed my skin or made my feet swell. At one point in the past, I blogged nearly every weekday without a fun abbreviated name to justify it, so I should be in shape. I enjoy blogging when I have something to say, but this thing is killing me.

Fact #1: I am now a professional writer. That's what I do for work. It struck me last week. I pay my bills doing what I studied in college. How many liberal arts graduates can say that? This is a big fat "I told you so" to my parents, that's for sure.

Fact #2: When you sit in front of the computer and write all day, you don't really want to do it when you leave work.

Fact #3: But during NaBloPoMo, you pretty much have to.

Fact #4: I'm not giving up on this goal, but I have to be lazy sometimes. I need to leave my apartment and spend time with a human who's not a co-worker or a bold name in my in-box.

This is what I'm wearing to do that:

The stripes and reds and blues of this outfit give it a nautical look. I randomly remembered wearing the navy striped tee on Valentine's Day 2002 when I went out for heart-shaped pizza with this guy I dated for five minutes. He was ahead of my time. I think I'd date the college-version of him now, but maybe he's not as cool as I remember. He's married, after all, and has been for awhile. I don't think anyone so young should get married unless there's a threat of being stoned. The bad way, I mean. With stones. The hard, jagged kind.

No, nine is not my lucky number. Yes, I have to say that a lot when I wear this vintage brass nine necklace. My mentor Kelly gave it to me. She made it. I got to choose from a few different numbers, and one and eight were taken. I like that nine is ambiguous sometimes, like at a shoe store. When I wear this necklace, little kids on the subway often point and identify it - always proudly, usually correctly. Their parents look at me like they can't decide if I think I'm a fashionista or Flava Flav.

The red sweater is a staple that's long enough not to show how high-waisted my denim skirt is. I know it's en vogue to dress at Camel Toe Orange Alert, but I just can't go there. I have hips, so I think I'd look chunky. Plus I don't want to have this phantom penis fabric bulge when I sit down.

Come to think of it, this pleated front skirt is perfect for any guy who needs to pass as a woman. Extra bits can swim around undetected. It's deeply, darkly, dudely demure.

You cannot have a bad day in red tights, unless you work at a theme park or department store Christmas promotion. I like how they peek out window-like from the space between my shoe and its strap. The navy flats are a librarian's fantasy in leather and rubber soles. I like the homespun hip button and that they are one of my few pairs of shoes that doesn't click or clunk. I should wear them more often. My new blister is as much as indication of that as it is a deterrent.