I mostly go about my day thinking of it as a here's-what-happened, Monk style. I'm really a very shady person, I'd die if I had to spend all my life with someone waking up going to sleep beside brushing teeth with cooking eggs next to me, unimaginable. Or, cue motherly voice, you just haven't met that - Bollocks. I didn't want to write very much about this last semester because I'm bloody tired of college and bloody tired of home and I just want to drift for a bit but that's not really an option if there's no distance involved. This is why I hate keeping in touch. You call me at eight this morning from halfway across the world, what are the chances I'll want to talk at all? I think I've accumulated a fair share of haters for never picking up my phone but I'm just not a phone person. I spelt accumulate with two ems before Blogger corrected me. Anyway, I was talking about this semester. Everyone's getting old and this is typical. It's also therefore typical that I should want to stay at home and ruminate or whine in solitude because I can't be arsed to do it on worldview or on the ledge, people just seem so far away, all solid fuzzy blocks of heads and limbs and coloured clothes. I don't think it's the love that's disappeared, just the wavelengths. I forget birthdays but I feel myself wanting to make all the gifts I ever thought of for all the people I ever wanted to give things to, it's like a sombre funeral all over the place.

I also can't be arsed to gripe to myself so I'll probably rant here and be relieved at the zero comment trend, works for me. The faster I write the less time I have to chuck things into the save-as-draft cycle. No fear of that now, I'm pretty sure I'll be reminiscing anyway for the next three months, writing things down before I forget them, doesn't matter if they end up as drafts. Mellow gold, world. You can smile now.

Afterthoughtwise, I just read the most beautiful story.