At around 10pm is the saddest part of my day.  If I'm going to feel lonely, that's the time.

Xanga has changed a lot, but somehow not at all.

Funny.  I see a few people I'm subbed to have decided to come back now.  Others are gone.

It's a weird old thing.  How do you get in touch with people you want to talk to, but are afraid to ask if they'll still be there?

Xanga.

Plus c'est la meme chose.

Another six months.  Wow.

I wanted to come to Xanga and post.  I wanted to email and skype my friends in the States.  I missed people.

The first month in the new house, I didn't have internet access.  King did manage to get it to work, but there was some problem with the wireless that prevented me from connecting.  He told me he'd get me some cat-5 from work, but it was a long stretch from his room to mine; I guess he just couldn't find any long enough.  Or he didn't bother.  I'll never know.

I was so busy that first month, between work, training and rehearsing and a desperate need to stay on top of the housework that even though I missed it so much, I didn't have time to make sure I got it.  After a while, I became used to that isolated feeling, and it underlined the general misery of trying to be all things to all people, and I figured it might be good for me to stop wanting what I can't have for a while.

I got a stone in my parotid gland and I stopped running because the jarring gave me chronic headaches that made me think I was dying.  I was given painkillers that made me behave like I had PMS on acid (I've never been on acid, but I like the phrase).  I couldn't feel the pain from my injury when I trained and when the shaking in my arm tipped me off that there might be a bigger problem there than I had thought, I stopped lifting.

I quit at the opera group.  Should have done that long before I did.  I just stepped off the committee, and walked away.

King turned out not to be the person I thought he was.  I think I turned out to be not the person he thought I was.  I came home to my parents.

I've done a lot of thinking.

I've been unhappy.  I've been happy.  I've put a brave face on things.  I've let things explode from me so that no-one can be unaware how I feel.  I've screwed up and I've done things right.

It's all choices.

I was right to move out; the change did me good.  I learned a lot.  Mostly that I'm not a terrible person, but I am fallible.  It's so obvious that it ought to be more easily comprehended than it is.  I still worry that there's evil in me, but I think that worry is a good thing.  Sometimes I think it maybe makes me behave that little bit better than I would otherwise.

I remembered that I like people.  I remembered how hard I find it to dislike people.  I like people and I don't keep grudges.  I was trying so hard to keep a bad one and desperate to hate its object.  It was good to let that go.

I learned that I really can't live with men who leave pee on the toilet seat.

I rediscovered a zen-like enjoyment of washing dishes.

I decided I am so much more than surface appearance, but ultimately concluded I'd rather be fit than not.

I met some people with whom I want always to be friends, and I missed the friends I wasn't in touch with even more.

I took up a new hobby.

Things aren't perfect - they never are - and sometimes I find things hard.  But right now, the sun's shining, I have no pressing concern other than my laundry needs hanging out and I want to level up my Morrowind character.

Six months to lose myself.  Six to find myself again.

Maybe sometimes I can be a little bit lucky, too.