His and hers.

Today, I've eaten about 1700 calories, and I didn't leave the house till eleven pm, and I lost all of my dissertation notes. I wrote about 1000 words of it though.

I am actually happy. I am happy that Little Bird and he, and my other friend (Thin Man, let's say) came to fetch me because they so dearly wanted to eat with me that they kidnapped me. I'm happy that we went to Tescos, and that I terrified Little Bird whilst she and he waited in the car as I turned sumersaults in a car park. I'm happy about our time together. I'm happy.

Little Bird makes me happy. He does too, in a different way. I don't know. He made me flip for a fair while, and I fear now it is waning.

My Grandma sent me a card today. I prefer to communicate with her by letter; I dislike phone conversations, preferring face to face exchange because I tangle the words down the telephone wires. I like writing and I like getting letters. My Grandma is excessively garrulous, so letter writing confines her to a page. Today, though, she sent me ten pounds with the letter and I feel as though she's trying to buy my letter writing. I write because I like writing; and, if I'm honest, I prefer it. To tarnish it with ten pounds seems so very mercenary. I will have to thank her for it; and she doesn't respond to my form of thanks very well, it's never effusive enough. This ten pounds makes me feel very guilty.

What would you do if you were here, Lady of the Rings, my other Grandmother? What would you say to me? I wish I knew. I sometimes worry I adore you more because death always elevates a person. I do wish to be like you, adventurous and successful, good at people, good at committees... I don't think I am. I worry I am more like your sister. I focus too much on down emotions, I am silly too.

Am I enough of a lady for you? I don't think so. I am ramshackle in comparison; I should effect my own style more, I know, wear more makeup. Be a lady. Not even a lady, just to make the best of myself. That's what you would say. And you'd tell me I was doing well, and that I should write a book, and that you were proud of me. You might have shown me makeup... well, I worked it out on my own anyway.

I might have showed you my theatre school monologues. I don't trust the other to keep the secrets. I'm only showing two of my tutors.