Wherein the diary gets written in an archaic and unnatural way

Well, we're off to Lyon next week to live in a temporary house for the next few months, only returning here on the weekends. It's a bit scary. I've had a lot of sleepless nights over this move and the many sudden changes it will bring in both the short and long term. As crazy as it sounds the thought of my loss of internet access and the loss of my very dear diary I've been keeping here has been one of the thing which has upset me the most. The writing I do here really helps me keep a clear head and lets me see a reflection of who I am in all this clunkety-junk mess of ups and downs I seem to be getting myself into lately. I guess I need to write to see who I am and what I feel. Maybe this is because I have no idea who I am and holding this mirror up sometimes lets me say "hey there's that woman, the one who's a little frightened, a lot stronger than she thinks and who seems to be a pretty good mother. I think I remember her." I often don't recognize this person until I see her a few months later while reading through old diary entries.

Anyway, after much refection and worrying it finally did occur to me that I was being silly. Many, many years ago people actually wrote in diaries and didn't publish them on a screen for all the world to see and analyze didn't they? They didn't get clever responses to each entry like, "Such a delight to hear that you and Mr. Chapman are eager to have a second child. Mrs. Beckman the elder will be so pleased to hear that," or "You and Jonathon should not have been holding hands in the garden while the Chancellor was not in the city, shame on you ... but do tell more!" And they didn't get to compare their stories to others' who'd had similar experiences not unlike their own in many ways, so they could obsess over the details of these stories and find deeper meaning and delightful irony in the similarity of their own circumstances. And thus I think their lives must have been much less rich and colorful and probably very, very unfulfilled. Plus just think how they couldn't google something every time they had say "nervous illnesses," "female complaints" or "the shivers" and find diagnosis or a cure in a matter of minutes and perhaps save their or their husband's life just like that.

It must have been very difficult.

So, anyway my conclusion is that I've decided to keep writing my diary anyway, and then I think simply dump the entries into the computer on the weekend when we return home from Lyon to hammer the walls or whatever it is we'll be doing when we come back to our house. I know what I'll be doing at least. I'll be playing catch up and driving Seb mad screaming, "my god woman will you stop it with that damn computer! There are more important things in life." And I will contine to peek at the screen each time he runs downstairs to fetch a screw or drill bit, and then pretend I'm just tidying up near the computer table just as he walks in again catching me gasping "OH GOD...she's having twins!"

Computer and those within you, you will be sorely missed! *sob* Sunday is our last day together for a while *sniff* I hope our time apart is short. *sniff* *sniff*