I don't journal well. That is, I am not consistent with keeping it updated.
I'm scattered at the moment. I want to work, I want to play. I want to get on with my life, I want to stop and smell the roses and take a week at it, if I want to. I want to go for a walk, I want to stay inside with my familiar things, and with my secret thoughts and daydreams.
I don't feel like I am affiliated with any particular community anymore. I don't feel that I fit in with Caledon anymore, I know very few people in Steelhead, and a few more than that in New Babbage. I hardly go out and socialize unless I'm providing the music; I think I got discouraged by people being suggestive with me when their attentions were unwelcome or undesired.
Like anyone worthy, I want to be romanced, I want my trust won, I want some effort put into the seduction. I am not at all interested in a quick coupling that's going to go nowhere once all has been done. I leave that for Reg, that's his method, not mine. There are very few people who capture my interest, whereas Reg is a lot more open to things. Then again, Reg has been uncharacteristically quiet lately, and grouchy when he's out...and tame. I don't understand him sometimes.
I am single still. Purrhaps it's safer this way. I can sit in my Hatbox and daydream while I mould hats and create fat bows and flowers to pin to them. I admit it is a lonely existance sometimes, but I've chosen it.
I have a heart full of love, and one day, I will find someone worthy that I can share it with. I believe that.
Reghan puts down her stylographic pen and gazes at what she's written. A sort of twisted half-smile appears briefly on her lips, then she exhales softly as she opens a drawer and removes a sneakily-acquired sepia photograph of someone who has captured her interest. After looking at it for a long moment, she returns it to the drawer, which she then shuts with a muted bang. She then adds to what she's written:
Only time will tell.
