February 13th, 2001.  Tuesday
 
 

    Just got home.  Had a night out at a bar called 13.  It was  supposedly a showing for the Golden Trailer awards, for the best movie trailers of the year. But it was pretty much just a bar with a few tv sets playing movie trailers.  I had my doubts whether or not we'd get in, because I've had a few bad experiences with this sort of thing before.  I'd asked Rodzilla if she'd like to go to this thingy, and she seemed enthusiastic about it, despite our sketchy track record about actually getting into these sorts of events.  We had a bite at the Lemongrass Grill on Ave. A before hand. She asked me if I had another webpage somewhere else, because she said she could tell I wasn't being totally honest in this journal, meaning I wasn't writing everything I was thinking. That's true, and I've often thought about starting a new journal elsewhere, but I just haven't.  Anyway, we met up with a few people from work, and headed over to 13.  Overall, it was fun. free drinks, and an interesting time.  I got on the train home feeling sort of weird. I started listening to this CD I made, and I felt great. I had a good day yesterday, largely due to work at the magazine.  I got out my pad and pen and wrote a bit on the train.  This is what I wrote:
"I'm so happy.  At the end of every day, I can't wait for the start of the next. That's probably- no, definitely- not true every day, but I can say wholeheartedly, that's true now."
That was largely due to work.  How weird.
Then I wrote: "Life is good.  No matter what, as long as you're able to say 'life is...' something, it's good by default."
That sounds really silly in retrospect, and also like some sort of delusion or denial.  But I suppose I'll stand by it, for the sake of honesty.
i had a lot more to write, but i just can't right now. For some reason, i think that last drink is just hitting.  i really need to crawl into bed.  A good night.

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