Between the assumed --unless I'm told that he can make a recovery on Tuesday--death of Mortimer, college, and a rather startling arrangement of personal problems, I just couldn't find the time to get into the manic groove that all commercially-endorsed holidays bring out in me.
My housemates have been beyond beyond the past couple of days.
Sure, we're living in a rather disgusting structure, comprised of dirty dishes, newspapers, breadcrumbs, and ants, all posing as a house, but it's kind of nice.
Until the other day, I hadn't seen most of my loves in a week. Some I still haven't seen.
We gots the looooove, though.
When I came home a sleep-deprived mess (six hours' sleep, spread over four days is apparently not enough for a functioning human being), two of my housemates were sitting, watching Glee and eating homemade lemon muffins.
They listened to me rant, then we hugged, ate the deliciousness, and I finally succumbed to Glee's awesome power.
I repeat, 'awesome'.
Right now, I'm waiting for the call from home when the phone will be passed around to every available relative and we will scream love at each other.
Also contemplating whether or not it's worth it to finish an essay which I will probably be failed for anyway.
Either way, I am running off to the shop to see if there is any chocolate left for me to sneakily hide in my housemate's pillows.
Final note: I hope you're all full of love and chocolate/roast/Peeps/whatever you gave up for Lent, if you did. But mostly love. For tradition's sake, I give you
