I’m train-ing the way home. It has been a surprisingly pleasant ride, save for that desire to upchuck all the Italian Thick Milk Chocolate Version: Hug Mug onto any spot but that near mine. I’ve been supping with Jack again. While this cheers us greatly, it in no way rubs or tames the fact that we’ve barely any sleep in us. I in particular, have had a rough night, with supposedly 5 hours of ‘manufactured Z’s’, one of which was dedicated to murmuring at my listless cat with silly nothings. You know, the usual, “I’ll miss you so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so very much” which at once exhibits the saccharine sweetness of my bounteous, boundless spirit). When I did not fancy being la nouvelle Mrs. Bennett, I succumbed to an alarming deal of tossing and turning on a single bed cramped with plush dolls of all shapes and sizes and not to mention a man-sized bolster. As for the following two hours, I was plagued with nightmares, an exaggeration of the dread I had earlier invested in my less-than-kind university assignments, whose hobby it seems of late, are to become obese with deadlines. I’d share the details with you, my dear-yet-non-existent readership, however I have neglected my blog for days now (I bloody hope you’ve noticed) and my dream has since taken a plunge in the River Lethe.
Yours for never,