Today is my first day of the new year, only nine days late. It's taken me this long to feel as though I can start it right. It works better than the other way. How can we be expected to start a year properly after staying out all night the night before, spending the first part of the day asleep, and then moving carefully through the rest of it to keep from jostling our heads?

I met George at the tea shop yesterday. I wanted to ask her for advice, but I didn't because she sometimes gets impatient with people who don't know what to do. Maybe that's why she's so appealing when she's uncertain. It's kind of like seeing a shooting star, even the way you wonder afterwards whether it actually happened, or you made it up in your head.

We talked about Diana Rigg and music without words and calendars, and George scolded me for having no interest in Alias. We had scones and two kinds of tea. She told me what I missed on Wednesday and on Saturday, and it turned out to be barely anything. Then we walked around until we were too cold. George and I had a nice afternoon, wearing raincoats and feeling nervous.

It feels better right now than it has in a while. It feels better right now than even an hour ago.