It may well be that I have forgotten how to write. Quite often in conversations, on buses, in classes, I find myself drifting off and composing a monologue in my head. And sometimes I catch myself in a blissfully blank state, which the needless noises and stresses around don't seem to penetrate. I like my life here. Classes and readings take up most of my time, of course. And then there's the very occasional meal with friends. Or the time spent lounging in a Summer Hill room. But would it be too selfish to let myself wonder if something's missing? Find me, a voice inside murmurs.

Charlotte: I just don't know what I'm supposed to be.
Bob: You'll figure that out. The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.


Today is the 20th of September. Slowly, slowly, I am losing my way.