I could write today up all light hearted, and talk about my hangover, and why you shouldn’t accept drinks of Absinthe from spunky men you’re trying very hard to chat up at Lumiere and talk about dancing at Khuja for hours and then being walked home by KateM and Brad and Nigel despite my insistence that it was completely unnecessary. Or I could talk about bawling my eyes out when I got home, about ringing up Tom because it was freaky to be alone whilst being so very aware of my own mortality. I could talk about crying in the shower again today remembering so many little things about Scott just because he’s dead now, wheras I wouldn’t have given him a second thought last week. And that makes me feel stupid, and somewhat tacky, jumping on the whole grief bandwagon thing maybe? I don’t know. Besides a brief confirming phone conversation with Amy yesterday I haven’t talked to anyone who actually knew him about it. I haven’t really talked to anyone today, except for KateH on the phone, and I’m lonely. I know there are people i could call, but what i really really want is just someone to hold me. I want that kind of comfort. Because it’s all about me, isn’t it? It always is.

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