Deja Vu?

Someday, I'm going to have to read this journal. A couple of hours ago I began writing an entry about something that happened long ago, and I kept getting the nagging feeling that I had already made an entry about it. But there are over 2000 entries here, and I have no idea which one of them it might have been. Since there is no search feature, and I haven't the time to go on a hunt, I just kept writing. But now the sky is growing light and I am nowhere near finished with the piece, so I'm going to have to put it away for another time. I really ought to keep a paper record of what I write about, so I can find stuff in here.

I am thankful that this night has been considerably cooler than recent nights. There's even been a bit of wind to listen to. Today might turn out to be quite pleasant. Unfortunately, it is expected to heat up again by Friday. Some years we get Oregon's rainy spring, and some years we get Southern California's balmy spring. This year there seems to be a bit of Arizona drifting in.

Last night, I channel surfed by Jimmy Kimmel's show while David Duchovny was on, and saw some pictures from a slash/fanfic site devoted to The X Files with which Kimmel was embarrassing his guest. Of course, I had to visit the site itself. It has very romantic pictures of Mulder and Krycek making out which, even though I was never a fan of the series, I found quite amusing.

Day and Event

A balmy afternoon has given way to an equally balmy evening and put both me and Sluggo in the mood for doing nothing. It is a not infrequent consequence of spring's most pleasant days that I veer from a state of lazy delight to an inexplicable ennui and back with no apparent provocation. It is my bi-polar season. Not even the congestion of my head brought on by the clouds of pine pollen nor the soporific monotony of cricket songs can explain my condition. My thoughts are energetic but unproductive, submerged in a physical torpor which inevitably triumphs over my best intentions. Ambition? Chill! A hundred ideas might flower from my fertile imagination, but they remain abstractions, never emerging in reality. Cruel April.

This evening, I had for the first time the quintessential LJ experience of being discovered through one of my posts here by someone I actually knew in real life. An anonymous comment to an old post brought the e-mail address of a former flatmate I haven't seen in ages. I have not yet responded, as I just got the message and haven't had time to decide what to say. I am quite surprised. I've always expected that, sooner or later, someone I knew would stumble across this journal, but now that it's actually happened I'm at a loss about what to say. Hey, you used to be that guy who knew that guy I used to be! It's a strange situation, indeed, when some fragment of the past suddenly bobs up among the wrack of time, reminding you of things you once did or said, or thought or felt, and of how different you now are from your younger self. Well, I'll get to it, then, and see what happens. Cruel April is a good month for nostalgia, after all, and takes equal pleasure in illusion and disillusion. Oh, long ago, there you are again.