So it’s not quite as easy on the eardrums as the far more common fifth-of-November trope, but everyone remembers the fifth of November. Why can’t the ninth of January get a little love? Sure, it exists in that no man’s land between New Year’s Day and Valentine’s Day, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. In the sense that every day you’re not dead is important, I guess.
I figure anyone’s life can be judged fairly by the quality of his or her January 9ths. After I took this photo, I did some digging into my own documented past to see how January 9 has treated me all these years. Hilarity is about to ensue.
January 9, 2009: Ate leftover garlic chicken (that I cooked!) and baby carrots for lunch. Made a fantastic pot of coffee and added Irish cream to my first cup. Got excited about wearing the bright-green hoodie. Spent the evening at work up to my elbows in ink inside the morgue, reacquainting myself with 366 editions so I could pull the best-designed ones to enter in contests. It took a lot longer than I imagined it would, and I’m still not convinced I found the best stuff.
January 9, 2008: Too much caffeine (after nearly a year without any, if I recall correctly). Fretted over buying a new car.
January 9, 2007: Took pictures of light.
January 9, 2006: Breathed. Blinked. Blunk? Not sure, because I didn’t write it down.
January 9, 2005: Recovered from inventory night at Dillard’s.
January 9, 2004: Felt crappy, watched crappy movies.
January 9, 2001: [from black diary, kept briefly during college] “I returned to the campus on Saturday. It is now in the wee hours of Tuesday morning and already that sinking, desperate melancholy has seeped back into my brain. Perhaps it’s the weather.” It gets way more emo after that. Waaaay. (That was the year I was stuck in a big ol’ delicious freshman-year-of-college depression.)
January 9, 1998: [from brown corduroy diary I inherited from my grandmother] NSFW. No, really.
Honorable mention — January 8, 1997: [in green Beatrix Potter journal with Toad on the front] “I come to you in a state of bitter turmoil and panic. My life is becoming hell.” Cue story about how my boyfriend Jeremy said he was going to call me, and then didn’t. And then said he was going to come over, and didn’t. Ahhhh, the trials of youth.
I wish I knew you in 1997. We would have been best buddies.
I love reading my old diaries. You’ve inspired me today, LT.
Since the 9th is my birthday, I too think it should be celebrated in a very special way.
K, in 1997 I would have loved to have been your best pal, so that I could then be a total dick and completely ignore you while I had a boyfriend. I could punch my 1997 self, really I could.
B, awesome! I think a diary dump every now and again keeps a girl honest.
C, Happy birthday! This will no doubt ensure that I remember your birthday from this second forward. :)
“My life is becoming hell” LOLZERS. This is why I hate teenagers, because I remember taking myself that seriously and being that dramatic over EVERYTHING.
January 9th is my mom’s birthday!