?

Have a strong headache - had it all yesterday, on the left side of my head. I don't think it was a thirst-headache, because that feels a bit different - more like a tightening crown, and this one is more crushing down one side of my head. Cold now - been watching the temperature fall half-degree by half-degree since August, first with eager joy, now by apprehension. Seem unable to type O_o

On Wednesday, after the imtihan, I was walking homewards with Nadia, and she put fifty pounds into my hand, and said it was a present. When I realised what it was, I was shocked! I tried to give it back, I told her I couldn't accept it, but she wouldn't take it. I didn't know what to do - I didn't want to make a fuss but I also didn't think it was right for me to take it, because I don't need it. I mean, true, I'm economical and watch the piastres, but it didn't warrant aid. She absolutely wouldn't take it back, and there were no convenient pockets for me to deposit it in either, so I had to hold on to it. I thanked her rather stiltingly for it, only because it was the only thing left for me. Dad wouldn't be pleased at all - he would say how could I? And I wouldn't be able to explain how I had to. I feel ashamed myself - not, I hope because of pride, but more because I know I haven't the need of it, and it is a misplaced charity - no, not charity, gift. If Heidi was still here, I would have given it to her.

Oops, sorry XD

I'm sorry I haven't posted any updates recently! I've posted up what I've been writing at home, so there's a whole bunch of backdated ones.

John:
I'm so sorry about your sadness :( I think I understand at least a little, and I hope it gets easier for you. There isn't really much anyone can say or do to help, I guess - I think it's one of those things that you just need to work through at your own pace, in your own way. I hope everyone around you is helping to ease your mind and keep you busy when you need it.
I'm always really interested in your comments, so I hope you'll keep them up; even my sisters enjoy reading them. Also, next time you see Sophie, can you pass this address on to her?

(Also, I'm interested in a job in September! I don't want to work anywhere but BTP >_>)

Re: Ruth and being mugged: that back door is asking for it. It always has been, and I've always hated it - do you think you'll finally be able to get a spyhole put in it, at the very least? I've been after that since I started. We REALLY NEED IT. (Did you notice how I say 'we' like I still work there? XD)

Do you know who did it? Was it one of those estate rats someone we know? I hope she's okay! And don't forget, get the spyhole. How are we ever to even know who we open the door to without one? It could be, you know, one of those December Mondays, and there're only three people working, and it's 7 o'clock...etc. Always hated it. *shudder*

Get the spyhole!

Crunchy Leaves!

It is strange to write the date as above. It feels like the last thing to December. If we were judging only by the faculties of the senses and expectation, without recourse to calendars and watches, I would think it April, or maybe early May. Of course, until you are away from what you are used, you don't realise you have a habit - or indeed, sense - of the changing year and seasons. So of course, there is a clash of fact and sensibility, producing what is altogether an interesting alloy of confusion. As a faithful devotee of autumn and its sundry delights, this is perfect - I can only lament at there not being drifts and drifts of crunchy brown and red leaves - I know I spend all year waiting for the bushery (I know that isn't a word :P)(it is now) next to the old railway line (near my house) to start accommodating the season: the leaves go first yellow, and then bright vermillion, from the tip of the leaf, upwards. It looks like it's dripping redness.

I took photos of it last year (when I still had my camera)(*sigh*).

---

"Dear, dear Norland," said Elinor, "probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves."
"Oh," cried Marianne, "with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight."
"It is not every one," said Elinor, "who has your passion for dead leaves."
- Sense and Sensibility