Doesn't it feel much better, aha, when you've had a better day than yesterday?

Lady Sovereign, you speak the truth.

1430 today, written elsewhere.

I put my foot in it, but otherwise I'm fine. I feel squared out and reasonable. I get a lie in tomorrow.

I get so cross with hypochondria (and cross is a silly word to use). I wonder if you do too? I've never heard you make corporeal complaints, once on behalf of your daughter, but never for yourself. You don't get ill. I suppose you pride yourself on that (I do too) and you quietly exude rude health. You don't look healthy. But you are. MR described you as warm blooded today, because she can't turn up the heating without you remarking on it, though you're not like GF, who keeps it turned down because she's got enough insulation wrapped round her skeleton structure. You look muscular. I daresay you reckon I'm a little nice-but-dim. Or pointlessly eccentric, or adorned with useless fripperies. Do I make you nervous? Do I seem like I'll say the wrong thing, and then there'll be a backspin, you have to say the wrong thing too and we're all sixes and sevens?

Warm blooded is right. You're sensible and hard and effective, but I can't help think you're warm underneath. I saw you teach the other day, and you seem so sweet when you're nervous. Sweet with everyone looking at you and learning, because you can keep their attention and get them to learn. I wish I could. I can't stand that my family values appearance so much, but then you do too... in a different way. You're never seen out of uniform, your uniform, which isn't the most exciting but is neat and clean all the time, it's not haute couture but it's you, so it looks stylish, and I think comfortable from the way you move in it. You don't wear makeup (my Mother would be shocked). Did you? I don't think you ever did. Noone taught you, maybe. Maybe it was never a thought for you? Maybe you were too busy excelling at la vie sportif, or doing other things that are worthwhile to bother with something so useless. Maybe you do care, but you feel all of these other things too.

I couldn't look as proud or dignified as you without my daily mask.

I am silly for notifying you of things that aren't particular. I don't want to bore you. I just like to watch you be mercurial and beautiful. I'd like to see an explosion, as rumoured by colleagues, and I like to see you calm in your office at the end of the day. You seem to make your desk small by hunching over it, and there's some kind of comfort that comes from watching the curve of your back link up to the shine of your grey-chestnut hair. Though no words float between the doors, you're there and it's enough.