December 14, 1999.

Quiet day at work today. It's nice knowing that I'm the one they want to call when they're one person short in the mailroom...but I think it'd be even nicer if I could get some guaranteed hours. Though I shouldn't complain. Tomorrow will be my first day off in weeks and I plan to spend it foolishly.

The Boy's in a bad mood tonight. His new, suburban job is turning out to be monkey work, and his prospective landlady has moved back his move-in date to January 1st. This means that at the end of the week, he'll officially be "imposing" on at least one member of his family. He's feeling rootless & rejected. I can't blame him.

I mean, I may bitch about living here, but it's nice that my residence isn't looked upon as an imposition in any sense. I have a hard time intuitively understanding homes that work differently. In my world, you offer space for as long as it is needed. But it's not up to me. Making him feel better is up to me; solving all of his problems is not.

I just remind him that in 8 months and 5 days, all of these problems will be over...and a whole set of new ones will begin.

Thanks for not flooding my mailbox with angry rhetoric about chicks who abuse the label sexual abuse. I was really afraid that I'd have to face a whole bunch of pissed off people who think I made a big deal out of nothing.

I'm in a mood this week. About twice a year, I'll start to get bothered by my perceived lack of recognition in the online diary community...and this is one of those weeks. Actually, I've been annoyed ever since Beth got nominated for a lifetime thingy on the Diarist Awards, when she a) started her diary 3 months after me b) gave up for a whole year and c) was really really mean to me when I expressed frustration with her exit from the scene. I was the 166th person to join Open Pages. I've been writing for 2 1/2 solid years. Nobody cares.

At least the Boy loves me.

I'm tired. My betrothed is upset. I think I'll go lie down for awhile if you don't mind.