Break

I spent my Christmas Day in the company of the boys at the 7/11, where we ate corndogs and chicken buckets with Minute Maid cranapple on the side. I have been left all alone at Reed; she flew back to England on the 17th December. So my holiday season has been pretty lonely, but I suppose that's what I wanted. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that. The last time I saw her, she was being humiliated by the United airlines check-in officer at PDX airport for having a suitcase 12lbs over the weight limit. From there, anything could have happened. She hasn't been in touch. For all I know, her plane from Vancouver to Heathrow might have been redirected to Paris, and for all I know, she could have been stranded there for three days, with only her quilt cover for warmth, and FOR ALL I KNOW, her baggage could still be lost somewhere in the purgatory of the Charles de Gaulle luggage network.

And why haven't I been writing? With so much free time on my hands, you would think I'd take this idiot-less opportunity to write a blog post a day and finally catch up with everything I meant to say 5 months ago. But the thing is - the crippling, disabling thing - is that I'm too like her to do anything of the sort. Procrastination is her way, and thus tis mine. I spend my days writing lists of intent, and adding things of no consequence just in order to cross them off. Yesterday, for example, I walked down to the canyon and failed to make a fish hook from the shell of a Mountain Dew can. I then wrote 'survey fresh food situation' at the bottom of my list, and crossed it off.

But now I have a week before she gets back, and I'm going to get this done, messily and illiterately, with too many adverbs, with too many commas, whether the rest of you (8 of you) like it or not. Post by post. After this post, and a cup of tea.

Consette x