July 8th (you can’t eat for somebody else)

For the last few days, I’ve been aware that I’d have to work, and then go to a BBQ in a sweaty, disheveled state. However, the assurance that I would have a shower, albeit a few hours later than I would have liked, spurred me on to greatness.

Bought some pudding, in the form of cookies, on the way to Jill and Lydia’s. Fought the feeling of responsibility to buy two packets, in a stand against food wastage. Much merriment ensued, with lively sausages, my most willing pupil in the art of tea-making so far in Rosie, and a bra flying out of the window, which I wasn’t responsible for, this time. Also, reflections on why I always hiccup during and after eating. I may be inhaling too much air in the process, but how would I know what is the norm, as no one else has ever eaten for me?

After a week of almost constant activity, I’m feeling slightly giddy. Because I recharge within my internal world, it’s like my debt of alone time is building up. I can psyche myself up for social encounters, and really enjoy them, but someday the bailiff will turn up.

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