This place

It's later than it should be, but not as late as it will get.

It's colder than I'd like, but my head feels too warm.

It's after my birthday but before the celebrations.

It's after the second moment of inertia of my workload but before the region of zero pressure.

It's after she's gone.

I want to hold her.

She got together with my best mate and organised a wonderful end to a terrible day. She made sure I had no suspicion (although I guessed what they would get for me) about what they were up to. I'd resigned to the fact that I was letting people down by not celebrating when they were so ready to share the day with me. And then they made it all better. A surprise supper, gifts and love. And a disgruntled French girl. Oops. She has forgiven us now.

Madame Francaise is a lot less uptight and I think it helped her realise how highly strung we were becoming. We're calming down in our relationships within that house. We take time out together, just relaxing and laughing. Maybe it's because, well, if we don't then we're left with a sour taste when we look back, I guess. That apartment has a story that should be told. My angle alone wouldn't do it justice, but soon I'll try and retell what I can recall: The violence, the warmth, the separation, the charity, the bloodshed, the break-downs and the love.

I'm about to take a power nap before ploughing on through what I need to remember for tomorrow's (today's?) paper.

I'm glad there are people who will still care for me even if everything falls apart.

I pray that it won't, but I also don't fear it too much. I need to be realistic about what I can do with the time I have left. I haven't always had the benefit of someone who cares enough to want me to do well in my studies. My studies aren't who I am, but I want to do my best for the people around me.

And since the sermon a few weeks back; for God.

Look after each other and give me a hug if you see me around.

TheSovietChairman

P.S. Best. Surprise. Ever.

P.P.S. Seriously.