There was nothing I particularly wanted. I just enjoyed being home, and I thought I could use the opportunity to go through my hard drives and my diaries and check if everything was in order.
Little did I know that I was going to make myself the single best Christmas present of all.
You see, when I started sorting through my diaries I noticed that one of them had apparently gone missing. I searched and I searched, but I couldn’t find it. No problem, I thought, I still have a digital copy on at least two of my hard drives (I always photograph all my entries just in case I happen to lose the diary itself).
But when I went through my files, I noticed that the photos weren’t there either.
WTAMFF? I thought.
Now I was in panic mode. I started frantically searching and searching and searching and searching and searching and cursing and searching…
Until at last I found the diary among my other diaries:
I had looked through them a bunch of times, yet I had somehow always failed to see this one particularly little notebook. I can’t explain how or why (or why there were no photos).
Anyway, there it was, in my hand, the thing that I wanted most for Christmas: my one “missing” diary.