I'm here at work, alone. I hate being here alone! The walls take on a language of their own... they become menacing even. I hear sounds where I know there are none. Enough about that.

I finished reading Up and Out, and then moved on to Lost and Found, by Jane Sigaloff. I didn't like it at first (at all!), but now, after over 200 pages, I'm finally getting into it. It's about a 29-year-old lawyer, Samantha Washington, who accidentally left her beloved diary in the bureau of her New York hotel room, only to have it found by Benjamin Fisher, her soon-to-be soul mate. It's quite cute.

A nice discovery this week was the Starbucks on Upper James. Who knew? Now we can cut the weekly visit to Ancaster down to maybe once every two or three weeks. mmmmMMMMmm... venti caramel macchiato....

Oh, last Sunday was nice, except I kept thinking that he was going to propose. We went to the Imax in Niagara Falls, and then to Planet Hollywood for lunch. It was all really nice, really fun, and really special. Which made me think that he was up to something. He wasn't.

Valentine's Day is going to be somewhat of a disappointment. His mom let us know on Tuesday, when we were there for her birthday, that she's already bought a roast beef for Saturday's special Valentine's Day dinner, so we couldn't really say, "Oh, we don't want to spend that day with you guys!" So our romantic Valentine's Day is going to be spent at his parents' house.

Last night though, we were driving home from work, and he said, "I'm going to drop you at home, and then I'll go and get stuff for pizza." I went upstairs and noticed that he was taking a little longer than usual, but thought nothing of it really. Then, when he finally did show up, he had flowers and my favourite: Le Chinois. Yum. Orange chicken. He said that, since our Valentine's Day was going to be less than ideal, he thought we could have our own special night tonight! I thought that was pretty special.

I'm thinking that I'll buy him the new Misfits cd, and that Playboy's Anniversary book. I know, I'm my own worst enemy, but maybe I'll talk myself out of my slump. If that's what it is. I hope so.

I keep looking at "my ring." I go to diamond.com, and design my own engagement ring. How sad is that? 14k white gold band, with one .75 carat princess cut diamond, with one pear-shaped sapphire on either side. It's beautiful. And so unattainable. It's a nice dream though. And nice to look at.

I don't even know my ring size. How could he find it? He doesn't know what rings I wear on that finger, aside from "our" ring, which I never take off. I have to just stop thinking about it. I'm suspicious all the time, looking for clues... I just want it to be a surprise, but I'll ruin it if I keep thinking about it.

Well, he's going to pick me up soon. Survivor/The Apprentice night at A&G's. More another time.