Gone today, here tomorrow.

I arrived home from work last night around 2.15am. So I suppose it would be more fitting for me to call it morning. I found that three CDs I had been awaiting from ebay had arrived which made me jump oh merry, with joy and thrill. I made a milo and burnt the top just perfectly, like a Crème Brulee and I put Letting Off the Happiness on and melted into the sound of confusion and desperation. I adore Bright Eyes. I can listen to Conor's stories, his painful retellings of moments I can relate to and if I don't feel like I can cope, I can just shut off. It's so easy to shut off from what is being said and to indulge in the beat and the melody that fools one into thinking the song is one of joy. Except in the first song on that particular CD, mind you. Because it's hard to miss "I give myself three days to feel better, or else I swear I'll drive right off a fucking cliff".

But it's okay to pretend he's joking and that people don't actually do that. Ever.

If anything is okay.

Which is perfectly possible.



I found a bag full of clothing in my room left by my mother from her friend.

I looked through that bag to find dresses, tops, skirts in perfect condition, mostly in size six...

I couldn't figure out who would give away so much of their wardrobe at once especially since most of the collection appeared to be brand new. I even imagined the owner to have been in some tragic accident which made 3am a very creepy moment in the Happenin' Hut that I live in.

Mother, this morning, told me though that they belonged to a girl who moved overseas and put on a lot of weight whilst she was there. And so she is out buying new clothes in a different size.

Like that, like it was that simple for her to do that.