It feels like such a long time ago that I had anything of any real worth to write about. In a way it's a good thing. My time is occupied doing stuff, rather than writing stuff. The stuff that i do isn't so exciting that I feel the need to write about it. I go to work. Work is fine. For the first time in a long time I'm happy in my job. I volunteer once a week at a youth club. Sometimes it feels like there's not much point me being there but a lot of the time I feel I'm doing something worthwhile. I encourage some of the lads to make cards and last week I brought the guitars down for them. Sometimes I just play pool or chat with them.
I get to see my darling niece on a regular basis which I could write about at great length but I am aware that, whilst this is great for me and my family, it's not great reading for people who don't know me. It's an utter delight though to see her smiling at me, or hear her giggling when we play peekaboo.
There's also the rats of course, which are another endless source of delight. Rocky is getting fatter and fatter. Pepe's definitely not pregnant but she's earning herself the reputation of being the naughty one. We talk about the rats so much that mum says she dreads to think what we'll be like if we have kids.
It's my birthday this friday so I'm having a party to combine our flatwarming ratwarming and my last year of being a twentysomething. So that's my life at the minute in a nutshell. I'm happy and content but lacking in a bit of inspiration But if that's the least of my worries I'm doing alright really.
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