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Thursday January 3, 2002 - 8:22 p.m. Well, it's about damn time. I know it. It is. Christmas, babies, was a trip. I was lucky enough to get four whole days off and I spent most of it wildly shopping because I hadn't done any shopping before then. At all. I love Christmas normally, as I have stated before I am terrifyingly into most holidays and in particular the fall/winter ones, but this year I just couldn't really care. It started to feel like Christmas to me roughly...yesterday. When it snowed just a little. I wanted to break out my Bing and Nat King Cole and just go to town. But I didn't. This year, I bought a fake tree. Because buying a live one just seemed like way too much effort for many reasons. It's actually not that bad. No, really. When you don't really care, a fake tree isn't that bad. It's kind of nice to not care, sometimes. It saves you from having to drive your tree to a dump because you didn't take it down in time and you missed the city tree pick up by one effing day. Once, in a different apartment when I was eighteen or so, my Christmas tree lived on the balcony until, like, June. (Give me a break, I was a teen.) New Years Eve was also somewhat of a trip. Shrieking Drunk Man saw to that. At one point in the evening he thrust his drink at Louise and yelled "Taste it!" I peed a little when he did that. For the record, I had never seen Shrieking Drunk Man before that evening, and to my knowledge neither had Louise or my brother. He was just...there. Suddenly. Like a prickly rash. But I went like this at midnight: "Wee." No, I didn't wee at midnight, I said wee. And I meant, "Excitement. For to." Not, you know, wee. Geez. On the last note, the Olympics are in one month and five days. This makes me break out in a cold sweat, and start to chew on various parts of my hands. This is an odd habit I've picked up, just since starting to work at this place. I've never had any interest in chewing on my body parts before, and suddenly I find my hands irresistably attracted to my mouth. It's so effing weird. Weird. Weird weird weird. So. I guess that's it for now. I just didn't want my diary to go all sinkhole. I'm sure I'll be back sooner than last time. But then, I've been known to be a shameless, bald-faced liar. I'm bastardly that way. So, I still love all of you. Especially you. That's right, you can feel good now. Because if you read that, I'm probably talking to you, seeing as how I'm thinking you're the only one to read it. So. What are you wearing?
-Mlle R
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