O, be swift — we have always known you wanted us.

ambiently wondered, as i neared home after a week away, if i'd find a letter from a. on my doorstep, in reply to the one i sent him with his books. i did not. what i did find were cards & gifts from two of my oldest & wisest friends, & the biggest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen from my sometime neighbour, who i would go to rooftop bars with in the brief time she was living in edinburgh last year, who had some really quite insane takes on life, & who has been a sweet & encouraging friend on the other side of the world ever since. & i thought, look at all this love right here on my doorstep. i can't believe i ever let him over the threshold.

only hayley williams understands me.

dragged my sodden heart up to the isle of skye, got windswept & rainsoaked in fields further north than i've been in years. there is peat & oil & earth in my blood; i am reminded of this every time i come out into the wilds of scotland. fuck him fuck him fuck him. i keep thinking, unbidden, of the shakespearean insult: you lily-livered cur, you milk-sopped pansy. i think also of maisie peters: women's hearts are lethal weapons, did you hold mine & feel threatened? still, still. i have books to write, lessons to teach, friends to adore. "i can't believe anyone could break up with you", he said. me too, fucker. me too.

got a good grade in dining at kitchen table at the three chimneys on skye, something that is normal to want & possible to achieve