One hundred. One hundred entries. When I started writing this, I hardly expected to last beyond the dozen or so entries required to work out that initial bullshit angsty crisis in which I found myself in February. Instead, Diaryland has become a regular part of my day; I have found friends; I could hardly imagine something exciting happening to me without working out how to write about it. The therapeutic nature of this diary is not to be underestimated.
I reread a whole passel of entries last night. It is interesting to see what I have been writing about the past few months. Everything from the joys of yellowness and elevator buttons to despair-inducing coffee; freaky dreams to Paycheck Fairies; my foray into lockpicking to medieval medical practices. I like making myself laugh.
Given that one hundred entries is cause for at least minimal celebration, I am pleased to report another bit of good news: my freelance gig, which was scheduled to end tomorrow, has instead been extended. Indefinitely.
Even more exciting, it looks like the job will only be thirty hours per week, which means I get to roll out of bed at a leisurely 10 am every day. A few people have tried to convince me to take the 3-day-weekend option instead, but knowing my sleeping habits and my staying-out-far-too-late habits, the longer I get to stay in my bed, the better.
Please excuse me while I jump up and down and do a happy jiggydance.
(jigjigjiggy)
Ahem. Much better.