Diary #490

It’s funny; when I sat down to write this I thought I’d say this week was quiet. But then reflecting back, I realized it actually hadn’t been; I went to a concert with Daedalus and a play with Chekhov, took a bingo-loving friend the bingo hall for her birthday, attended a small but lovely party at Lady Vi’s on Saturday, then went to Allena Gabosch’s book launch on Sunday.  So it wasn’t actually that quiet; it just somehow felt quiet.  In my youth, my life was full of adventures; when I became a librarian and settled down with Jack I started to miss that, and the universe responded to that mild nostalgia with my Year of Disaster soon afterward.  This is not to say that I no longer like having adventures; I’m just a lot more circumspect about the kind of adventure, and the kind I like are the kind where most of the important factors are firmly under my control (and yes, that’s one of the many reasons I dislike flying).  And when things are relatively quiet, I enjoy them for as long as that lasts rather than looking forward to the next excitement.