I realised late last night that the 20th was an important anniversary...a milestone of sorts, if you will.
I'm talking, of course, about the last Harry Potter book being released. Book Seven. The end. No more. How am I doing? One year in? Well, so far I've read it three times, and the utter despair of knowing there will be no more HP hasn't set in. After all--we usually had to wait two years (or more--remember book five?!) for the next installment. But there will be no more, and that fact becomes more real with each passing day. Ah, me. I think that's part of the reason I'm spacing out the Aubrey/Maturin chronicles. Apart from the reason that they are crack and too much of a good thing might very well kill me.
I kid, of course...the 20th is also the one year anniversary of my brother and sister-in-law's marriage. Happy one year, kids. Here's to many more.
Last year at this time I was happily frolicking on a beach, desperately glad to be away from a job which I would grow to abhor and eventually be fired from. My one regret? Not quitting sooner. I'm so much happier down here in Williamsburg, despite the fact that I make about half what I did in Chicago. The people are friendlier and more relaxed, and the atmosphere is less tense. It's hard to take yourself too seriously if you're wearing breeches and talking on a cell phone at the same time.
But tonight, dear readers, I have a touch of the hypo. Fear not--this is the kind that comes with long days at work and lack of sleep (owing to the fact I've been chasin' the white whale afore bedtime), not the soul-crushing kind that forces Nicki to take to her bed and weep. My audition went very well last night, and I have high hopes for getting involved in the evening programs. Although, I doubt they'll cast me as the govenor's wife, Lady Dunmore, though I surely had fun reading the part. And now that I've passed on musketry, the militia will become a regular excursion. And my portfolio is getting attention...possibly writing projects will follow?
So I really can't put a finger on why I should feel, well, blue this evening. Perhaps it's just because I'm not used to so much happiness. Ah, but I suspect it's the auld familiar complaint of being without Love, for, now that I have all my needs and wants taken care of, I have time to sit back and ponder on when the heavens will see fit to send me someone to love.
Although, with my luck lately, that could be any second now...