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2005-08-11 - 8:29 p.m. The atmosphere was tense at work today, and for some time a secretary was sobbing behind a partition near my desk, which is not the most cheerful accompaniment to writing affidavits. I felt enormously depressed after reading the front page article in The Australian about petrol sniffing, and I found myself, mid-morning, with a tight aching in my sinuses which refused to dissipate, despite some subtle reiki as I held my palm to my forehead. Lunch, with Cate and out in the sun, relaxed me enormously. There's not much I can do about petrol sniffing youths, after all, and there seem to be many people searching for a solution. I just find it terrible to be confronted with people who need so desperately to escape from their lives. It doesn't make me grateful for my comfortable life, but instead, momentarily, despise it. What good is it if fourteen year olds are killing themselves? I have consistently forgotten to mention a fabulous present I received a week or so ago - Liadlaith sent me Neil Gaiman's autograph. "Sif - dream dangerously" it says, in purple ink. It's in a frame, sitting by the computer, and I am delighted by it. I regularly point it out to West. "Look!" I say cheerfully. "That's his actual signature, you know. And he wrote my name!" West looks over dutifully. "Yes, I know," he sighs. "That's about the 20th time you've told me. It's very nice." Not a Neil Gaiman fan, I don't think he's feeling the purple ink delight. But I adore it. Whenever I feel in a frivolous mood and wear a skirt and high heels to work, I ignore my common sense and continue to ride the bike in them. One of my skirts has more material than the other, and is much more suitable for bike riding than the other. I think I look a bit ridiculous peddling away in my heels though, especially when they sometimes slip from the pedals and I whizz along, legs flailing away. I think the other bike riders think I should get a bit more serious about it all. I now detach my little headlight and take it to work with me, as my first headlight (which I left on the bike) was stolen on the second day of owning it. It made me rather paranoid that someone would make off with the entire bike next, but so far it's safe, and is always waiting faithfully for me in the dark, locked to the bike rack. Dear old bike. I'm becoming very fond of it, and have been tossing a few names around (I love naming inanimate objects). For the moment though, it's just Old Girl, rusty bell, slippery pedals and all.
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