dira | September 23, 2002

Nothing kills time like eight years' worth of paper journals to flip through, playing the 'What was I doing X years ago today?' game.

Last paragraphs of the entry:

Just plagued with these mental images, bleach-blond hair and smooth tanned skin, baggy ill-fitting jeans and a hand-me-down t-shirt of Xander's and a pair of Docs. And the plainest of silver crosses, small but not too small, leftover from Buffy and restrung for Bowie on a longer chain. His hair gets fried after a while, cos he won't use Buffy's hair-care products and his hair doesn't like the others. Head turned, bare chest heaving, Xander's hands on his belt buckle.

So now, not only is my mind in the gutter, it's in a gutter in Sunnydale. Buggerfuck.

Also, according to written evidence, today is the one-year anniversary of

iuliamentis learning the correct definition of the word wanker. Happy anniversary, Iulia!