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2005-10-16 - 7:13 p.m. I find it hard to write on Sunday nights. Today, it rained, the overcast sky scowled down on my hopeful rows of clothes on the washing line, and the front garden gratefully drank in the sodden ground. I've been a little neglectful in my watering regime. However, the frangipani has some new leaves, in honour of Spring, and the gardenia is flowering, little crunched up white blooms laden with heavy scent. I am staying at Brother's tomorrow night - he lives near the city, and it seemed easier to visit him on a weeknight rather than try to organise some coinciding free time on our weekends. I haven't seen him for at least a month. I feel like our family is drifting apart, a little - that sense of closeness is lessening now that we live apart from each other. I'm looking forward to spending a bit of time with Brother - I shall arrive in my heels and stockings and surprise him with my amazingly sophisticated outfit (seeing as he normally only sees me in baggy shorts and a t-shirt). I feel as if I'm living on the surface at the moment. I'm not writing much (although there's a short story competition I'd really like to enter), I haven't been doing any non-fiction reading, or meditation, or tarot reading, or any of the other things that make me feel more deeply. I don't feel the urge to yet. (Although if I want to enter this competition, I really need to start writing something now.) But right now, I'm going to stay on the surface, and go and wash my hair so that it bounces into shiny curls for Monday morning.
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