At Cambie and Broadway I saw my old coworker Brian. He asked what I did to my hair and then said that I look like a maniacal street person. Thanks Brian.

I think about Chris. My regret? My regret. God why did I give that up? Why did I mess it up? What happened: one night of camping, the alcohol and the pot and the campfire and that boy with his eyes and desire. I wrote about it. Then one evening four months later he picks up my diary, opens it to that page. It would be funny if it weren't so painful.

I know that I needed these last couple years to explore the world and other types of relationships. I know that I would have edged away from Chris even without the breach of trust.

I don't know what I'm even getting at.

Work is awesome. Emotional but awesome. I picked up a mommy mouse by the tail and a pup was suckling her and she grabbed onto the pup by all fours to protect it from dropping. That really touched a spot with me. Coworkers are laid-back and joke around. Sawdust fights and cart rides down the hallways.

This afternoon I was standing on Georgia St. and some guy rolled down his window and smiled at me, as he was waiting at a red light. Then he said, "Hey how's it going?" Abnormal things like this add to my not-myself feeling.

Things need to be shaken-up. Shake shake!