Note to the Perplexed, Disheartened and Betrayed
If you have, in the past three weeks or so, sent some kind of message, email, love letter, post-it, aeroplane-folded note, writing on the wall, or any other form of correspondance to me, expecting some kind of expedient reply...I apologize for this reply being not particularly forthcoming. Events, appointments and Things To Do are flooding into my life, and I am drowning in lack of time. I WILL GET AROUND TO REPLYING YOU. One day. Don't lose hope on me.
Meanwhile, feel free to stick small pins into small Rachel-effigies while cursing in your mother tongue.
It is said that love only lasts for 18-36 months, and any remaining attachment is merely habit. What a _________ thought.
Fill in the blanks yourselves. I am content with "What a thought".
To demonstrate my chronic lack of time, I shall let it be known that I arrived back home from my trip to London at about 6 in the evening, but only crawled into my room at a quarter past midnight. The route from the bus stop to Rootes is waylaid by many dangerous diversions. This one was Boar-shaped, and involved an evil, powerful time vortex that sucked away six hours into newspaper design, layout, graphic design and generally screaming very loudly and terrifyingly, in the futile hope that things would get themselves Done out of sheer fear.
Alas, I am not that terrifying, and there were too many things to be Done. I am going to bed.