Today. 9 July 1998

Let's see. Sean is back in town from Ireland by way of Amsterdam, Belgium, Amsterdam, and oblivion. We should all be so lucky. I stopped the no-sleep-till-6 cycle and moved back to the let's-wake-up-at-6 one. Where's my Gro-Light?

In other news: I managed to exchange a few words with Anna tonight. Relatively benign, which is an improvement, I suppose. At least there's no open hostility, and that's good. She mentioned that the night that we spoke that led to me sending The Email, she had "pissed a lot of other people off too." I told her I wasn't really pissed off, I just sort of had to say what The Email said. I didn't tell her that that was because I had been composing it in my head for about two weeks already. No sense in *seeming* obsessive on top of *being* obsessive.

(The Email was the latest example of a very bad habit - coming home a wee bit tipsy - well, drunk, actually - and firing off messages that tend to be, uh... blunt. This is a good way to ruin a month. Don't try it at home.)

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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