Three weeks, nothing to do

Well here I go, I have three weeks with nothing on the cards but a bunch of sposed ta's and could-go-to's. My nuclear will be gone for the coming couple, which leaves me alone in the big house in Plymouth. I wish I had a bit of mischief left in me, but it looks like I got to go find it, shouldn't be too hard.

Mono-meanin-of-life

I have it! I mean, I had it- in my hands, in a manner of speaking, like in a box or something, y'know confined, like I knew where to find it and it now it's gone. I wish I could start to explain it, but I really wouldn't do it justice, there are no words to or not enough words. I'm telling you because I have to tell someone, even if there is not very much to tell. I want you to be happy for me, that I had it, because now it is with me, everywhere I go. You know, that's what's strange, I don't feel a difference. Like maybe I'm more confident because I know what it is, and I know it can be had, that I'm good enough to have it, but really I'm the same as before to anyone who sees me. I like to think that it is apparent, but just look at the way you reacted or, I mean, the lack there of. There is no difference, and nothing can hold a candle to it, true love, fame, wealth, whatever, so I am satisfied to know that it exists and that I will never be without that knowledge.