[2006-07-01 - 2:44 a.m.] - perfect in his own house
All my old entries came back tonight; or at least I first noticed tonight that my old entries have recovered from that massive server death which reduced them to percentage signs a couple of years ago. It was wonderful surprise, since I'd long since given up hope of seeing them again.
I'm certain there will eventually be dismayed quotations from such past entries, in the vein of I can't believe I felt like that or of I can't believe I still feel like that.
Tonight, however, still with the gasping at having survived to 25, I wanted to remind myself that after all these years we're still hanging out, doing the same old things. Still calling in to work. No greater pleasure than reading mediocre slash at three in the morning, drinking cold water, with the Byrds and Lucinda Williams playing in the background. I stopped in the middle of an erotic passage about pirates and pulled my glasses off of my face, set them tiredly on the computer desk, and murmured aloud to myself, "I am completely happy."