When I can't sleep, I've lit a cheap candle. The night after saying "but at least I don't suffer with insomnia," but ticks and flashes jog me awake. Then I indulge in more pointless thought and fantasise about conversations that will never happen when I'm awake at night smoking cigarettes because I don't know what else to do.

Last night it snowed a wee bit. Chris cooked and marvelled. He's never seen snow before, or people like us either I suppose. Today I took fruit past the door step, into the bedroom and into sickly mouths. Last night, laid in my hard uncomforting bed, exhausted, I realised that moving sensation feeling which I've for felt months before but have never quite grasped and I put my finger right on it. I felt relieved to achieve it but disappointed at what it actually was. Moving on, keeping busy, nursing? Not reading. So tierd I couldn't spell tired. All the answers to the awful past but hopefully passed exam popped up when I was in bed last night.

Glasgow is perfectly beautiful today, almost warmingly so. Pristine and gleaming.
All the sensitive creatures queue waiting and wondering why I'm pleased and scribbling and sometimes, after a momentary glance, how it happened.

ooooh. He bought pink scented loo roll. What is wrong with him? Off with his head

this is incoherent

"well, make sure you don't look like a dyke" sound advice. erm, not that you'll care because I make you feel like appearance doesn't matter, right? reassurance, something. and me, I'm thinking, when does your flight get in? Maybe we can go back to the mountain together while I ask you all about your break and your dog because I think that's something you will to talk to me about. Couldn't give a... And meanwhile, I'll go slowly and privately berserk 'cause that's how it goes. I'll probably casually wait for your flight to get in because mines delayed about 30 whole convenient minutes. A misplaced banana skin on the runway would sort this out once and forall. Shut up.