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Well, here it is, entry number 100. In the new diary... I guess I've really settled in here or something. And just before the new year, too. I don't know what I'm going to do for new year's. I kind of feel obliged to do something stupid, or at least take some drugs or something, but something tells me this is going to be my first quiet nye since the, well, the first big one.
See, in my family then New Year's Eve was never a big thing, a big celebration; it wasn't until I was big enough to go out and spend it with other people that I realised what an emphasis there was on it. 17, I guess, or maybe 18. God, I think by the time time I'm used to being in my twenties I'll be thirty. Actually, I do feel kind of ready to be the age I am. Something to do with stability and change... it's possible to fool yourself that stuff is happening when it isn't. I mean, uh, like when you're going out drinking every weekend, taking drugs, going to parties... I spent a lot of time doing this stuff, and while something was "happenning" every weekend, nothing was really happenning in my life but I wasn't seeing that... bah, I guess it's fitting that I should ramble incoherently in the 100th entry since that's what I always do. ;)
Actually, I think the thing that's really fitting is that the 100th entry is that it should be about other people's writing, because it's other people that make this diary something, whatever it is. I wouldn't bother to write it except that I know that someone is reading it. And I wouldn't be writing *here* except that I've found so many great diaries to read. So, um, here's to you lot. :) Merry christmas.
Oh, right, and the raging controversy about love. Here we go.
From Soap-Box, who started the whole thing (grrr, soap-box, grrr) I'm going to include the two things that were in my last entry and an antecedent that they had that I didn't previously notice:
Also, this is the text of a note that soap-box left in my guestbook: Huh. I never thought about it like that, that it was saying you were unable to commit, and therefore unable to feel love . . .
In response to which... actually, I'm not going to respond to anything yet. I'm just going to present. Responding can be for the next entry.
Ok, so next up is the amazing Cista, who wrote the following:
And the inimitable elipsis wrote the following:
Which just leaves rushlight, who left me a note saying the following:
Love is blind. Love doesn't give a fuck about age, race, gender, circumstances, or sanity. It can be an entirely random thing, and it can be so hard.
As far as I know, that's everything. If I left anyone out, lmk and I'll include you in the next entry, tentatively titled "The Love Controversy, Part III: This Time It's PERSONAL"
Whiskey before dawn
They won't be the same
Now that Carter's gone" - Fred Eaglesmith
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