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I haven't come into the office late and hung-over in as far back as I can remember. I'm taking full advantage - though not intentionally - of the fact that both P and VP are gone and I'm in charge by default. So this morning we all strayed down the hall to the reception area and, for an hour, drank coffee, gossiped and bitched. Well, they did, because all I could "manage" was some mmmmm's and slow nods. When I eventually got up to go to my office to log onto the internet and hold my face in my hand (voice and email could wait some more), one by one, they all did just about exactly the same. I have a casual management style. Phone calls will be distracting and some work will be done, but not at the cost of updating that diary or doing a little online shopping or taking the latest online quiz that everyone's getting spammed with today.

I've been thinking a lot lately about this diary experience. How it started just over a year ago when I was unhappy about the malfunctions of a significant relationship. How I succumbed to the recommendation of a GP (ferchrissake) to begin taking an antidepressant. How those early (drug induced) entries are so much more ME, and how the many more after that just aren't. Instead of growing accustomed to having other diarists read my thoughts, I've clammed up and became conscious, again, of how poorly I use words. When I was sad and using a drug to simulate a feeling of well-being, my vulnerability was right there on my surface and I felt, strangely, completely okay with it. Later, and now, I'm "drug-free" and unable to be myself. What the fuck is that? Really.

I think I'll take the advice of a listed buddy's therapist, and worry about this later.

Just purchased: 3 DVD set of Dario Argento's Suspiria

Why this entry isn't just a photograph: haven't yet unboxed the scanner....and continuing on with doing nothing worthwhile with my time.

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