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1/16/94
Back in college, which was longer ago than I particularly want to remember, I had a creative writing teacher who told us that anyone who wanted to be a writer should keep a journal, detailing their thoughts on the events of the day. Seemed like a good idea to me, so I started, and haven't quit since. Lost count of the number of little books I've filled up, and it's only gotten faster since I started working here. And here I am starting on another one.
Janine gave me this one-- she insists on calling it a diary, though. "The only difference between a journal and a diary," she informed me, "is whether the cover is pink or blue." I'm not sure that's true, but I didn't argue with her. I leave that for Peter; he enjoys it.
At first thought, I'd have said today was pretty ordinary. No horrendously
powerful dimensional cross-rips, no Class Seven demons ripping up midtown--
in fact, we didn't even have a bust! Yeah, I'd be tempted to say that today
was ordinary, but I learned a long time ago that there is no such thing
as normal at Ghostbuster Central.
The morning started off with a bang; specifically an explosion. One
of Egon's experimental whatsits went to that big junkpile in the sky at
about nine in the morning. I'd been up fairly late the night before with
a good book, so I was snoozing away at the time. Let me tell you, that
boom had me out of bed and in the hall before I was fully awake. Despite
his constant complaints about being unable to wake up before noon, I noticed
that Peter was way ahead of me, and pretty sharp for nine AM. Note to self:
file that away for potential blackmail material later. You never know when
having something to hold over Pete will come in handy.
Anyway, nobody was hurt in the lab accident, and we didn't sacrifice
any panes of glass this time, which was nice. I swear, the rate those two
go, we barely need to spend any money on air conditioning. Ray and Egon
disposed of the now defunct whatever, and Peter, since he was up, was drafted
to do the laundry. I was assigned to shovel snow.
Pete and I decided that breakfast was in order before we did anything
else. Mutually agreeing to skip Ray's scrambled eggs, (I have never seen
food quite that shade of blue before,) we filled up on toast and coffee.
I had two cups, and Peter had the rest of the pot. And the guy wonders
why he has chronic insomnia.
One cleared doorway later, I was about ready to head in when Peter
appeared. I could tell by the glint in his eye that I was in for it, and
was I ever! Before I could blink, the man was pelting me with snowballs.
This of course could not go unanswered, and we were soon embroiled in a
snowball fight that somehow expanded to include Egon, Ray, Janine, and
half the kids on our block. Take a tip from me-- never get yourself involved
in a snowball fight with Egon. The man's aim is just deadly.
We left Ray happily making snow angels with the neighborhood kids and
headed back inside for lunch, and of course hot chocolate. Peter cooked,
which was nice. After the sweat sandwiches, I'm not sure I particularly
trust Egon with the food production.
After lunch was spent with the Dick Francis novel that kept me up the
night before, a Christmas present from Egon. I get most of my mystery novels
from Egon-- with his photographic memory, he always knows what I have and
what I don't.
Dinner was my turn to cook, and then we all settled down in front of
the tube for some movie of Ray's. Some sci-fi/fantasy epic; I don't really
even remember the name. I was having a lot more fun watching Pete rag on
it. Even Egon looked up from his physics journals to throw out a comment
or two.
Yeah, it was a good day. Not normal, but nothing around here ever is.
And if there's anything the past ten years has taught me, it's that I like
it that way.