pyat

[Error: unknown template qotd]

My first post was on September 7th, 2001. We'd just move into the Mousehold, exactly one week before. I was writing the post on a Pentium-233, on a ratty desk in what would become Elizabeth's bedroom. We had a 56K modem. I was working as a newspaper reporter. velvetpage had just starting teaching. And here it is:

First Entry
_{[Current Mood | content ]
[Current Music | Klaatu's "Hope" album is stuck in my car tape player]}

First entry!

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the premier entry in what will no doubt be a short-lived fancy. In these ephemeral electronic pages, you will get the unparalleled chance to play peeping-tom into the daily trials and tribulations of a Canadian newspaper man! Or at least, the stuff I wankishly choose to share with the "world."

You have no idea who I am, or the people I'm writing about, but it really doesn't matter. Their roles in my life, and my own role in the world, will become apparent through the context of these entries. Mainly, this journal is going to be exercise in writing - something for me to do during idle hours at work, instead of websurfing and thinking about prunes.

Anyways.

My wife and I moved into a house on Friday - an 80 year old 2.5 storey brick home about 5 kms from the house I spent most of my formative years in. Similar style of place, too. The experience of moving in and setting up the furniture reminded me of the experience of moving in to that house on Rothsay, when I was 13 years old. The difference being - I'm now "the man of the house," the guy who gets to decide what sort of crap to put in the garage.

The house sits on a very small lot, but the backyard (a 15x10 plot of grass) has an 8 foot fence, and is very private and green. There are mature trees all around, and thick grape vines form a canopy above some of the yard, as they've grown onto the clothes line. The effect is a bit like a cozy, cool green den or sanctuary, and I intend to put a few lawn chairs out there as soon as we buy some.

This morning I put the garbage out at 6:40 AM while wearing my pajamas and slippers. Short of becoming a father, I can't imagine a more final rubicon of "adultivity." Yessir... I'm all grown up now. Soon I'll get to pay property tax.

Erin and I have been talking about trying to have a baby in the new year. I'll need to find a different job before then - she intends to take a few years off teaching, and The Regional pays little more than welfare. The idea of seriously discussing having a child... I'm not sure how to indicate the feelings I have about that. I want to, I really do. I imagine I'd be a fair parent, even. It's just very strange to think of myself as "daddy." But then, these last three years have been very much years of transition...

Um. Basically, if you're a late 20-something guy, or were one, you know exactly what the heck I'm talking about. I'm sure the experience and feelings are common to just about every middle-class white guy.

I'm living in what may be properly termed "the salad days." No health problems, no money problems, and no real worries beyond getting up for work. I've finally broken beyond the "terminal summer," that depressing period after university where I finally came to grips with "reality" or at least, life outside school. I actually have a work ethic now. Yay, me!

I'm told the "salad days" usually end as soon as your first kid hits puberty. Heck, I've got another decade and a bit of relative bliss, then. :-)

Matrian, a friend from FurryMUCK, got me linked up on Livejournal here. Hiya, Mat. I'm sure I'll address the topic of furryness in a future journal.

Er... the end.