Julia is moving down here today. Today! I did not actually believe she was moving until now. But as I type this she and her family are moving all of her stuff down here. They might even be in Maryland by now. It probably sounds silly, but it's one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me. Never in my life have I known anyone who understands my view points as Julia does, who loves all the same things as me, and with whom I can be completely open and honest about everything. And now she'll be where I can visit her on a moment's notice. No longer will most of my contact with her occur while I sit in front of my computer. Now instead of planning trips to see each other months in advance, we can get together for lunch or to go to the movies. This event is one of the wonderful things happening in my life.

We got a new manager at my restaurant. For some reason or another he only stayed a week before being transferred, but it's lucky for both of us that he did. For the entire week he was there I felt uncomfortable and angry. He fostered an environment that was severely offensive to women. Despite the fact that he was my boss, that he was the boss of all of my co-workers, he felt that it was appropriate and even amusing to ogle the women where I work, to comment on their appearance and how much he loves them to other men. I could list all the specific examples, but they fill me with rage and they are much too numerous to He is a slimy chauvanist and if he were staying at my restaurant one more day I would have complained about him to his boss. But what outrages me more than his behavior is the fact that more of my female co-workers were not outraged by his behavior. Some were, but the rest didn't seem to mind and even liked him for being "one of us" and not like the other managers. How can women allow themselves to be treated like objects, like property? How can they think it is acceptable, even flattering, to be treated in such a way? And by not saying anything simply because he's leaving, I'm angry at myself. Does he get a free pass because I don't have to deal with him anymore? What about the women who he'll be ogling and about whom he'll be making inappropriate comments at his next restaurant? Do I leave it up to them to say something when if I had said something myself a change might have been made? By telling myself, "in a week he'll be gone, just put up with him," did I do the right thing, or did I take the easy way out and let down my fellow women? This is another of the events in my life that counteracts my feelings of joy over Julia.

I went to the Orioles game yesterday and sat in the sun. I saw all the families happily enjoying a trip to the ballpark. Fathers and sons, fathers and daughters, grandmothers and grandsons. It was a place to forget your problems. The Orioles won their seventh game in a row and actually look like a respectable team. It was a fantastic place to be, and it filled me with happiness, as it always does. To me, a baseball stadium is almost a magical place. Sure the players are millionaires who complain and get free passes when they commit crimes due to their celebrity status. But when they walk onto the field, it all goes away. It's beautiful to watch a baseball game. It probably sounds trivial or silly, but it is one of my simple pleasures.

After I got home from the baseball game, I sat and waited for my sister to get home. My sister is an alcoholic. For the most part she doesn't have a problem with it, but over the past few months she went into a downward spiral, and it was more than I could take. I couldn't sleep when she wasn't home, on more than one occassion I had to pick her up from some sketchy place while the police waited for me to arrive. Emotionally and physically I was a wreck over her. About two weeks ago she wrecked her car when she was drunk and it gave her a reality check. She hasn't drank since, but still I wait up for her, scared of what might happen. I really believe she has it in control, but still I worry. I'm proud of her for overcoming this yet again and I hate myself for waiting for her to mess up again.

I had trouble starting this entry, but once I got going it was as though I couldn't stop. There is more going on, more good and more bad, but to go on would be tiresome. Nothing is out of the ordinary, neccesarily. It's not anything more or less than others deal with. But still, it overtakes me from time to time.