I had a couple of chirpier entries written in my head before. I can't remember what they were on though. I do vaguely recall something about the trend between ... oh wait, I think it was about how babyish I look, and boy-toys and cradle-snatching.

Hah. I can't seem to articulate myself well these days. Even the droll spectacle of my sister and her green spots wasn't written in a suitably amusing way. I don't know. I can't seem to summon up the cheeriness for fun entries.

I think I lost my place in the act of recording my life in this journal. Too many entries scattered on loose papers not in order and undated. Too many omissions. Too many silences. Too many secrets. Too much pain and too much guilt.

I squirm these days when my mother criticises the casual sexual attitudes of the youth today. I feel like I disappointed her somehow. I feel vaguely uneasy even though I know I shouldn't.

Things do change. And sometimes it is hard to divorce lust from love, and sheer infatuation from a sheer thing. I am too idealistic. I still hanker after the "one", the person whom will make my life complete. It is better to have never tasted love than to taste it and lose it. They made a mistake. If you never know what you will miss, you will never be sad. Perversely, you might never have tasted the sugar that sweetens the lemonade, but at least you would have never known that it could taste otherwise.

I think the Capt's loss might have affected me more than I wish to admit to myself.

Other things too. Quiet things. Silent things.