2004-03-02..1:50 p.m.

It feels like it�s been ages, but it�s all in my head.

I�m eating an apple that, if Eden was fact, would have been proffered to Eve. Sinfully red. Almost manically red. So red it�s deep purple. If I were keeping a grammatical record of this apple it would be: red, delicious. Not red delicious, though red and delicious, for I will not under any circumstances put myself through that grainy mush torture. Well, maybe if my mother was being held hostage somewhere in Texas and my only option to have her set free unscathed, toenails still attached, belly button still pointing in, was the successful eating of a red delicious, I would do it. No contest. But that�s a big if, as mum would probably disapprove the pants off of any hostage-takers before they had a chance. Regardless. This is an apple that would have placated gods, and stopped the locusts, had it been left at the foot of their alter.

What a lurvly past few days. All last week I was quite completely and inexplicably and unwarrantedly happy. All week, and it extended right into the weekend.

And a marvellous weekend it was. Saturday slinked past quiet and unnoticed, Sunday pootled along like a happy tortoise. Quite intentionally I weedled out of plans by concocting others to get out of being in the company of others. I left the house twice, once to do my week�s shop and once to buy rollies (which must be a NA thing because no one else seems to understand that term, opting instead for the titillating moniker, �skins.� Every time I hear that I can�t help picturing mock-croc or faux-snake cigs in the manner of Cruella De Ville. Maybe some velvety bovine if you�re lucky). There was a great deal of basking in pools of sunlight beneath my window, while reading six months worth of newspaper clippings my dad sent me and drinking of coffee. My dad has an eye for headlines, so it�s been all The Secret Language of Smut and Newfies Are Cool.

Went on a peanut binge Saturday during the rugby. I�d not indulged so in ages and went nigh apeshit over so much salty goodness. On Sunday, I also had mild and unexplained cramps as I settled into bed, which incited secret and unspoken hopes that it may at long last be my period, but it was more likely from sitting for six hours in a semi-reclined position on the couch. Possibly also the result of eating humus and celery too close to my bedtime and then attempting half-assed yoga.

Maybe it�s the being indoors for two days, but I�ve had no co-ordination since sometime Sunday morning. I�ve yanked telephones cord from the wall, unravelled half a days worth of knitting, and dislodged the connection cable that gives me internet. If my life were a silent movie, my accompanying orchestra would be full of mirth and exaggerated winks at the audience.

Last night, for the first time in just over a month, I broke the contact barrier with the Drummer Boy. O baby, we messaged, webcammed and phoned til one in the morning. Could I have a warrant for that happy? Thanks.

Above and beyond the call of the wild, meep