Xmas comes and the social life comes alive!

We had our work xmas party on Friday night at a pub! Lots of free beer, wine and merriment had by all! I was among the last there, and we headed to a gay bar down the road to finish off the night! Twas fun!

Yesterday, I pigged out on roast turkey and veges; then plum pudding, custard and raspberries! I was so full, I could hardly move!

I was supposed to attend a friend's work xmas party this Thursday but work got in the way *sob*

From Xmas Eve to 3rd January, I will be putting my legs up on paid leave! YAY!

What are you guys doing/what have u been up to?

I've been meaning to write this entry for a while, but it has taken me a while to get around to it. Episode 137 ("The Book That Changed Your Life") of This American Life, one of my all time favorite podcasts, was rebroadcasted on October 5th this year. Part one was called "Act One" and was about Alexa Junge, and how Moss Hart's autobiography changed her life. Apparently, it was also one of her grandfather's favorite books and she was moved by all the notes he wrote in the margins. However, the part of the podcast that really affected me was a letter that her grandfather wrote in 1969, when he was very ill:

Dear friends,

I've asked Donald Davis [a coworker of his] to read this to you. It's intended to tell you as much as I know about my present situation and thereby of course, to let you know what the prospects are for the future of the work that we've begun together. In planning this letter in my mind, I've been pulled this way and that by very conflicting impulses. I prefer to consider any of my own sickness, any deep trouble, as a very personal matter; possibly to be shared with close members our family, but never to be inflicted on anyone else.

At the same time, I detest mysteries, and those of you who have called, have, I hope, been told the truth as far as we knew it. But the truth has been shifting; sometimes very swiftly, and what you may have heard a few weeks back is now untrue.

Besides, there are some of you who are relatively recent friends; some of our common ties go years back. And old friends or new, the depth of my feeling for you obliges me to be entirely honest with you. And so I'm going to put the next several paragraphs in parentheses, and I'm asking Donald not to read them aloud. Each of you who wishes to can read it for himself. Anyone who dislikes the semi-clinical tales can avoid them.

()

Doubtless, all of that sounds very gloomy. I do admit I could think of happier matters. For one thing, I don't at all approve of my own extinction. I don't like the idea of it one bit. Though reason assures me that the world can get along very nicely without me, I can't quite believe that it will. Still, there few small compensations. For one thing, I had always hoped that I could face my own death with some equanimity, but it's a bit of a satisfaction to find that I can...

...And that's really what I'm wanting finally to say. I think you're a great bunch. And, in case there isn't a chance to say it again, thanks for your concern, your calls, your note, but, above all, for your love. You've had my love, and I've had yours, and I'm a damn fortunate man.

I just thought the bolded paragraph above is so eloquently put. "I don't approve of my own extinction." If you notice the date that I heard this, then you'll understand why this really spoke to me.

I don't really have anything else to say about this. I just wanted it written down so I didn't forget it.