Damn Frank is back! Not Frank at work who's cool in a depressed sort of way. Frank a customer, who has problems. I don't mean incorrectly delivered mail, although that's the problem he thinks he has. His problem is, he has no problem but complains anyway. Frank is what we call a serial pest. This is different from a cereal pest such as cockroaches in the Weet-Bix pack. Frank has seven complaints on record, going back to mid-2002. Each one is a complaint about his postie: he's receiving mail for other people; other people are receiving his mail; mail is left hanging half out of his letter box; mail has been opened prior to delivery. On each occasion we have followed up with the postie, the delivery centre, the area manager, and so forth. And it is becoming clear that nothing is actually wrong. He just likes to complain, and he doesn't like women - his postie is a woman, as am I.

On the other hand, life is treating me quite well and I have very little to complain about! I am in love, and I'm loved too, lots! I'm engaged to be married to my beloved Aidan, and this has caused me to do and say odd things. Odder than usual! I keep feeling like laughing out of pure joy, and nothing can get me down - not even Frank! I'm bouncing off the walls, on cloud 9 (or possibly 10), I'm grinning like a maniac!

One of my recent blogs referred to my need to write more fiction. So I did. See? I'm actually quite proud of those two efforts featuring Renee - I'm considering taking those snippets and turning them into something longer. The Storm has an unintentionally sharp end - I was writing it at work and then I had to go and do work and got distracted and didn't end up coming back to it. I like the feeling that writing gives me. I feel like I can create something, put a little of myself into something. I like the feeling of reading a well-crafted sentence and realising that I wrote that. I can't quite explain why I love writing so much - just that it fills a need somewhere in me.