It is Friday night. I am sitting at home in my kitchen after having just dropped off my tax stuff at the accountant's, which I had been dreading for some time but in a burst of suddenly embracing my adulthood, I felt magnanimous enough to actually do. I have a glass of lovely Shiraz (thank you, Matthew), and I am sure I will have another as I have to finish this damn big bottle sometime and I am just one person!
I am drinking wine in lieu of having the red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting that is taunting me. Carbs, you know, and all of that rot, to which I must brag- 25 and a half pounds, thank you very much, that I have lost. This following quite a difficult two weeks following the birthday extravaganza weekend. I have quite a bit to go, but with patience and dedication, two traits which I usually have in short supply for myself, I will accomplish what I have set out to do.

Work was hellish today and not because of people, but because of actual work, of which I have very much to do and I'm guilt ridden because I hate that I was doing someone else's job for the past two weeks and have left so very much to finish. But, I refuse to saddle her with it. It isn't her fault that we were busy and that I am incapable of juggling my time better. The whole multi-task thing I used to perform very ill, very ill indeed, but I am getting better. Now, I must master multi-tasking with all due haste without getting over-whelmed. It's the over-whelmed thing that I really must end. Mmmmm.... wine is helping ever so nicely. If only I could imbibe at work- things would probably be much funnier.

And today was such a lovely day, what a shame to have wasted it on work, blasted work! Happy Birthday, dear older brother, Geoffrey, not that you will ever read this, but there it is none the less.

I feel rather loose now. Oh goody! If only there was someone lucious for me to corrupt right now. Hmmm...

'Night, all. Ciao.

Best wishes to Charles and Camilla tomorrow, of course. ;)

I am mad, MAD, I tell you. Not mad in the angry sense, just mad in the crazy sense. I am obsessed. A friend of mine is having a baby. And I am now in the throws of searching for the exact right cross-stitch for the little sproglet, not the sproglet will even care over the care that his or her de facto Auntie has taken in chusing said cross-stitch. I have just spent the last 55 minutes on line on a website looking at different ones, not to mention the 45 minutes I spent in this pursuit the other evening. And I have so very much to do and yet, I am obsessed in this particular pursuit. And so I am Mad, very, very mad, but I suppose it's part of my charm, this obsessive personality of mine. It only seems to get worse when babies are involved. But I will find it. Rest assured I shall. And it will be devine! And when the sproglet grows up, he or she will appreciate what de facto Auntie so painstakingly chose and made. Heaven help me!

Well, today is my birthday. My actual birthday. I am 27 years old today. 27 years old. Tell that to anyone older than you and they look at you like, "Why are you complaining?" Actually, this year, I'm not complaining. But I think many of you know what I'm talking about. I had one hell of a weekend. For those of you that journeyed out with me on Saturday night/ Sunday morning, thank you ever so much. I had *Thee Best* time! I was definitely nicely looped and although we all got in so late, or so early- depending entirely upon your point of view, I still managed to make it to church for Sunday morning and I was there 15 minutes early, despite having gone to bed at 5 a.m. I survived my churchly duties, came home and took a two and half hour nap. Is there anything better?

Oh, I forgot to mention, on Friday when I came home from work I received a small manilla package and it informed me that I was accepted into the Master's program at Buff. State for Elementary Ed. with teaching certification, also known as the MIITC program. I will be starting grad. school in the fall! And the real irony, is that I received the acceptance letter five years to the day that I had received a rejection letter from the University of Warwick's Masters of History program. It's amazing where we eventually wind up. I'm still in the same place but on a very different course than I was five years ago.

27 years old. And I think I'm finally starting to Feel like an adult. Whatever that is.

I refuse for it to get to me. Little things are not going to ruin my night out. Everything is about perspective, right? Okay, so it just happens that the Trimania thing is this tonight. As if I knew. Although, perhaps, if I were in *the Know*, I would have known. But I can't help it they planned it the day three days prior to *My* birthday! And I can't find the necklace that I really wanted to wear tonight. I know that it is somewhere in my house as it turns up every once in a while, but that once in a while is definitely *Not* tonight. And, yes, I dropped one of my last remaining contacts down the sink. The damn thing just happened to be on inside out, which is terribly uncomfortable, so as I was taking it out to reverse it, the stupid thing fell *Plop* right absolutely square down the drain. I couldn't have done it again so perfectly if I tried. As I refuse to wear my glasses out now strictly on priniciple, I'm just going to be cute and blind. Well, not Thelma on Scooby Doo blind, but let's just say vision challenged. Things from a distance will definitely be blurry. This little things are not going to be indicative of my night. Bright side, bright side, bright side. Okay, have to go and finish getting all dolled up. Friends will be here soon.

I am Vince Clorthos, key master of Gozer, at work these days. And everyday, as I walk around, weilding my rather large assortment of keys, that line from "Ghostbusters" goes through my head. Louis Tulley. The guy who lived across the hall. Frankly, I think I would rather be the gate-keeper.

My will power is slipping and it isn't getting any better. I'm so good at home and on the weekends. I know what I can eat and what I can't and what I really shouldn't and, at home, I'm very, very good about it. My problem is work. Work is junk food central. This week, it's been cake for one of my co-workers' birthday which was Monday, with mini muffins, Starburst jelly beans, peanut M&M's, barbecue potato chips (I nearly made the "potatoE" gaff! Ack!), and double chocolate Hershey kisses. I'm only human and I'm getting complacent. 23 lbs and I'm acting like I've got it licked, like I have no more work to do and the rest of the weight will just keep coming off, so it's okay to have those jelly beans and a mini-muffin. It's okay to scarf down that piece of cake. I need help. Serious mental help! ARGH!

I can do this and I will do this! I just have to remember that I am a work of art in progress. Slow and steady wins the race. What other cliches can I throw in there? Magically everything works out for the best in the end. I think that's about it for now.

Okay, I just couldn't wear the dress for the work thing.

I have this fabulous silk, 50's style black with tiny taupe polkadots dress. I bought about six months ago because it was fabulous and silk and on sale and it was tax free week, and although it fit me very ill indeed, I just had to have it. Now that I've lost 23 lbs, it fits like a dream. My current connundrum is this, I have this fabulous dress and I was saving it for either dinner with the Boy, Easter Sunday, or some other spectacular reason to wear it. Tomorrow night I have a work function that frankly I don't even want to go to but I have to for solidarity and all of that rot and I was thinking I might wear it to that but, frankly, it just doesn't seem special enough and I have this horrible fear that I might spill something on it and ruin it, thereby ruining it for dinner with the Boy or Easter Sunday. But I don't really have anything else to wear as the Bank powers that be have deemed that we must wear black. What a pain. Good night all. Hopefully the solution will present itself in my dreams.

I'm doing better over the death of my beloved kittie. He's gone. The shock has depleted, but the guilt remains. It will be there for a long, long time. I keep thinking that I should have known, I should have done more, I should have taken him to the vet sooner, I should have, I should have, I should have... the list is endless. All of my friends keep telling me that I couldn't have known, that maybe he couldn't be saved, that maybe there was something more serious and that the outcome would have been the same. My mother thinks that his sinus infection had gone into the bone, I think perhaps it went systemic, but it's all the same- not much you could do, Ann. It doesn't make it any easier. I miss his little face, but what's really pissing me off the most is this stupid weather! It's so terribly cold and the ground is frozen, so I can't even bury him, yet, and it sickens me that my kittie, Jack, is in a box, in my garage, a frozen corpse because there's nothing else to be done yet. I can't put him to rest. It's upsetting me greatly.

On a far happier note, last night I spoke to Trisha and on the same day my cat died, March 9th, her new baby neice, Angelina Marie, came into the world. And that makes me very, very happy. She didn't want to tell me because I was so upset over Jack, but I'm glad that she did. I needed good news and that is certainly good news.

On a side note, why is it that the day that one looks less than one's best, is the day that the guy that one has a crush on comes intto the bank! Oh the humanity!

I had taken some pictures of my cat, Jack, which for some mysterious reason, won't attach to this post. I took them a couple of days ago with the intention of posting them so that everyone could see my lovely baby boy. He died this morning. Today, I am devasted in the shocking loss of my beloved kittie. Anyone who has pets knows what I'm going through and anyone who is as crazy about animals and cats, in particular, as I am will understand just how much I love that sweet little guy. He was sick, but I had no idea just how sick and when I was at the Vet's with him on Saturday, the vet didn't seem alarmed, just said give him his antibiotic, his eye drops and if he doesn't get better, bring him back. If he wasn't better by Friday, I was intending bringing him back. I went to bed at midnight last night, very late for me, and I was sitting in the chair with, just holding him and petting him, and although he didn't seen right, I just thought he was tired. I had no idea how tired. At five to one in the morning, his father, Rowan, began calling, and I yelled him and told him to stop. Now I know, he was trying to tell me that something was wrong with Jack, that Jack had died. I miss my little guy already. I miss his little face and his jiggly little butt when he would run down the stairs. I knew something was wrong, last night I just kept watching him breathe, but put I him down on the chair and went to bed. When I came down this morning at quarter to seven, I called his name and he when he didn't come, I went to look for him, and saw him dead on the floor, so terribly cold. I can't explain the dry, gut-wrenching sobs that came out of me as I just kept screaming over and over again, "NO! NO! NO!" and then sobbing hysterically, I called my brother, Geoffrey. I take back every bad thing I ever said about my brother, Geoff. And my parents are flying home today, so there's no way for me to warn them what happened until they are here. God, I miss him! My little man. My sweet, sweet Jack.