November 27, 1999.

For some reason, the 10 hours I spent at work today flew by with amazing swiftness. Perhaps it's because I was just tired enough to be quite muddled & quiet, but not tired enough to be cranky.

Which is a change from last night, when the Boy & I went suit shopping. I like shopping, and I even like going to more than one store...what I don't like is when the person I'm shopping with refuses to try anything on & just waits to be spiritually mugged by the perfect item. Grr. I should've eaten dinner beforehand; it would've helped my temper. Nothing like flavoured grease to right that disposition.

Sigh. Being with me isn't always a joy. I'm trying to be a better person, it's just such dreadfully unglamourous work & hard to boot. But I'm trying. I made a vow to be a lot nicer to the Boy & this morning I just shone with sweetness & light.

Really, I have witnesses.

Due to Jack-ular demand, I'm now fully searchable.

(Try it, it's really neat. Today I conducted searches on "Stacy," "4th grade" & "fuck me skirt." No apparent links to one another, I just wanted to see what the computer would spit back at me. Cool stuff.)

He was gently complaining today that my archives are difficult to navigate, especially if one is looking for references of one's own parties. So I took pity on the poor guy...locked away in Montreal with hundreds of impressionable undergrads, no wonder he misses the old days, where groups of bitter single men would meet to talk of chicks & I would represent my gender with silence & the occasional smirk.

In a similar spirit of nostalgia, I spent part of my afternoon drifting through Stacy's journal archives, trying to see if there was a public page I could link to the phrase "anamatronic midgets," as it originated with her last summer. No such luck, although I did spend a pleasantly long amount of time revisiting a wonderful summer. Memories to hold close on dark winter mornings; the only unfortunate thing about making a serious go of it with someone is that you only fall truly hard for them that one time yet the blast continues to echo.