What did you expect from me?

I'm feeling marginally better, although I'm sure that has a lot to do with the medication and very little to do with actual recovery. No doubt I should have turned down the shift I was offered by the agency tomorrow evening, but clearly I'm a glutton for punishment. A genius with a headache. A very bad headache.

My laptop has been returned to me, allowing me to pretty much finish the first of the essays. Whilst it still needs to be tidied up, and I'll no doubt add more criticism, it's good to have the bulk of one out of the way. Tomorrow, whilst I should be working, I'll be stood behind the bar reading extracts from the Spectator and drafting my essay on eighteenth-century London masculinities. Wednesday I plan a day of relative rest, although in reality that just means that I'll be spending most of the day lying in bed trying to get through the basic shell of this essay. I still need to tidy my room more, and begin packing. Mum's coming to take away my things this weekend, although not all of them.

Walking around today listening to radio-friendly pop punk and indie, with the sun shining, I realised how much I'm coming to like summer. I always used to prefer autumn, but now I think that a beautiful day is made by sunshine and bright colours. I'll be working too much to really enjoy any alone time in the sun with a book, like I did last year, but at least I'll have some kind of opportunity over the holidays in the garden. Hopefully.

Cub tonight was something of a joke, with no one showing up. It looks likely that I'll be given music editor for next year, although it's not guaranteed. It will be a lot of work, but I think it's doable.

Things with Darren are unpredictable, in a way, yet at the same time so familiar. I'm happy just cuddled up with a good DVD (and we've made our way through rather a lot of those really), so life is good right now.



Apart from him. I've come so close to telling him how I feel recently, but I'm still holding back. I don't want to lose him as a friend, and I'm sure it's not me he's talking about when he describes feeling exactly how I feel about him, only for his mystery girl. I wish it could be me. It's never me.