Two points on non-interest.

One, this house is having a serious spider problem. I've just evicted another one that startled me by running along the kitchen table (which I'm using to eat breakfast and play with the Book on). Ask Mel about the wolf spider making serious explorations of the dining room curtains while I was on the phone to her the other night. Thank goodness for the spider catcher - I hate spraying the little buggers.

Two, I can't park mum and dad's car for shit. It's a Pajero, a great big four wheel drive thing, and once again in my over-cautiousness, I have left myself with little to no room on the driver's side to get in or out. Looks like I'm climbing over the seat again. *rolls eyes*

That's all - I'm off to work.

All this free time and nothing to do...

Paula sent me home at one because there wasn't enough work for the both of us. I'm returning the favour tomorrow, after the wedding Paula is now officiating at since Pete has decided he's sick. *grins* Too much Christmas indulgence, I reckon. So here I am, and I'm bored.

Or rather, I have stuff I need to do and no inclination whatsoever to do it. And since it's getting late in the Northern Hemisphere, chat has died to a slow trickle. People are busy and I'm not. Bah.

*dances around* I suppose I could go and pack for New Year's. Seeing how I'm leaving straight after work, I won't get another chance. And there's dinner to think about, in a few hours. Hell, I could even write something.

Nah, that'd make me a writing person, that would. ;)

Ghosts of personality past.

I'm in something of a self-contemplative mood tonight. This can lead to no good.

I dug out my paper diary, the one whose first entry goes back to November 1989 (it wasn't a regular thing, my diary, more of something I used when I needed it). The year I met BRM, and started university - or the other way round. Reading over old diaries is like being visited by the Ghost of Adolescence Past. All those words, all that emotion, the heart-aches and the joy - it's like looking at a stranger. And yet I can still feel the remnants of that teenager, the uni student that was, and smile at her enthusiasms and feel the pain of her disappointments.

How things change, and how they remain the same.

I still use that diary, the one I always seemed to turn to when I felt I had no-one else I could talk to, no other forum. It's where the stuff I can't share goes, the things I prefer to keep to myself, and private. The things the online community don't need to know. The reason why such a small little book can cover such an expanse of time is that I didn't seem to need it that much - there's gaps, leaps of time, where things were going fine or I had the resources to cope on my own. Every so often, I find I still need it.

One of these days, and sometime soon, I hope, I will take that little red and black book and burn it. Because I won't need it any more.

But not yet.