Another good night at the plough. Another day of not feeling like it. Remembering back, I had a great time at the plough last night. I saw people I haven’t seen in awhile. I danced a waltz, Haymakers, a four-hand reel and another waltz. In.A.Row. Without dying. I am getting better. I bounced and flew. I had a wonderful time last week too, showing off my new car. Lots of attention, hmmmm gotta love it. Left later than I normally do both times.

I am recording this here because I have to be on probation again. I made a promise to myself that I could go to the plough if I went to work on Tuesday. It is getting harder (last week, I was over an hour late). And on tuesday, I don’t feel like I had a good time. I know I did, I just don’t feel like I did. Bunch of reasons it could be that I am not allowing myself to admit to having fun: Life has been so “neither good or bad” for quite sometime, that having a good time would mess that balance up, open things up for more bad. Or it could be that I am bordering on a mild depression and it is too scary to have a good time, the fall is farther if I am up. It is safer/more familiar to be down than to be up. Or it could just be the after affect of a sparkly situation, normal life is dull in comparison. Whatever the reason, I figure if I make a big deal out of it, it might be easier to remember/feel the price of staying late at the plough and doing what I need to to keep it in my life.