January third, two thousand and four.
It's weird, seeing it written out like that. 3 Jan 04. I'm going to have to get used to putting oh-four on my cheques, instead of oh-three. Funny though - the dates say 19__; that's how long I've had this particular set of cheques. I'm not a paper user, y'see. Cash, debit, credit, baby. Automated teller. Telephone banking. Computer banking. Cheques take too long to be cashed, and cost me an extra $0.48 in postage if it has to go anywhere. Bah to that.
I'm stalling, of course. I'm stalling, because I'd rather blather on about the new year and my method of bill payments, rather than tell you about the boy I met on New Year's Eve, and that, yet again, with another silly boy, I'm nervous that he'll call me, and nervous that he won't. I don't want to tell you how comfortable I was with him, and I don't want to think about the fact that he has a clever mind, and seemed to understand that I do too, even if it is hidden behind fluff and roses. I refuse to let you in on the fact that we shared the same opinion on the Art Deco exhibit, and we both love England beyond all imagination. In fact, I won't even mention that we lived in England at the same time in '98; he in Sheffield and I in London. I don't even want to think about how we had several long conversations about everything and nothing, and he's not a low-speaker and I totally got every word he said. And I definitely don't want to go on about the fact that as he said goodbye to me in the early hours of New Year's Day, he asked me when I'd be leaving for England and how long I'd be gone. Because, when I told him? He said, "Well, let's try to get together before then, ok?"
Ten days, poppets. Ten days before I leave for London. Does someone want to lay odds on when exactly I'll crack between now and then? You know, because I don't have enough to think about without the fact that I'm leaving Piranha Inc. at the end of the week, and EnCoCa is becoming a real and solid thing in my life, and my new black pants don't look as good on me as I thought they did in the store and in fact, they make my arse look rather bulbous. And? And and and? I think it calls for snow tonight! And I dislike snow; I really, really do.
I'll just think about the good things... like the email I got from him (emails are harmless and easily dealt with and not the same as telephone calls at all and no, I don't have issues leave me alone.) And also? London in ten days, yay! And also? I've finally delved into the goodness that is Body Butter, and am so in love, and hold the staying power of the scent of cocoa butter on my skin solely responsible for This New Year's Boy.
I've also made a startling discovery. This year, poppets, (four months, 28 days, to be exact) I'll be reaching a rather frightening milestone, which begins with a 3 and ends with a lot of denial. However, since my personality is not at all conducive to complete maturity, there is just no possible way I can ever get old, is there?
Oh, Lord. This is gonna be a hell of a January to grapple with.
Kisses, poppets. And that's another thing I'm not telling you about...
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