Dec. 31, 1985
The snow has fallen outside of the house, the new house. The presents have all been put away, though an air of Christmas expectancy still clings to the white walls made gay by all of the usual trimmings, rescued from storage.
The house still smells of new paint, fresh wood and builders. Some of them have returned to put in a finishing touch here and there, since we had moved in as quickly as we could after the house was finished.
I am uneasy, but hopeful. School is not going as well as I'd hope, nor as badly as I'd feared. It is almost as difficult being an ex-expatriot in America as it was being an American in Belgium.
I'm about to turn twelve and the prospect of adolescence is a threat on the horizon that I hadn't considered before. Until now, I have been safe and secure in my childhood world, unaware that teenagerhood is coming. The kids I left behind are for the most part, exactly that, kids without much awareness of what it means to be a teen.
But here in America, all of the girls are talking about it. Talking about breasts and bras, periods and pads vs. tampons, boyfriends and makeup. They carry purses, most dress in jeans and t-shirts instead of corduroy pants or skirts when out of uniform. I feel like a fish out of water all over again. Off-balance and off-kilter.
So I look forward to a new year to wipe away the old one. A year of promise tempered by tears of farewell.
A year later and I'm still a fish out of water, but already beginning to show signs of all the melodrama of adolescence. In that New Year I began a tradition of writing a journal entry just before midnight on the eve of the new year.
11:50 Dec. 31 1986
Dec. 31, 1999
This year, I look forward to wiping the slate clean again. 1999 has for the most part, been a terrible awful year, full of mistakes and troubles. I want to rebuild, refresh recommence.
I'm praying that I'll get the chance to rectify the wrongs of the past year and put my life back on track, learn to better live life to its fullest extent. Spend less time sleeping and dreaming. More time living and doing. Dreams are all well and good, unless you get lost in Dreamland. It's time to make some of the dreams into reality.
This New Year's Eve will be spent at home, with both of us recovering from bronchitis. Sabs has been in the ER twice and we've both been lying in bed with 103+ fevers for the last few days.
Not my preferred manner of spending the holiday, but you know, stuff happens.
Sabs' Mom is here taking care of us. She's cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom so they shine and she's been taking care of the laundry too. I feel bad because we disrupted her New Years' plans, but we just can't take care of ourselves and Sabs is in really bad shape.
This entry marks the last that will appear in Narrative. Beginning tomorrow, come visit with me over at Thursday's Child. I've also been reconstituting the old design on my earlier journal, Owl's Call so that the full complement of my different designs is available. However, the files are still something of a mess, so don't get testy if they don't work perfectly yet.
Happy New Year