I sleep on the south side of our attic apartment, with a window facing the neighbours I have never met. We see each other occasionally, wave, from two stories up and twenty feet across. They are Asian and sometimes I look at my map of the southeast seas while listening to them talk, guessing which corner they come from.
It’s June and we had some sun, at least for today. Emily and I drove up University, rolled all the windows down and sang along to Friday, I’m in Love. It seemed right, even if technically only true for her.
I have been working on several projects all at once, a few of which are fun and some that really only stress me out. I need stamps in all sorts of sizes and awesomeness, a replacement blade for my swivel x-acto, and at least five more hours in every day. But if all goes as imagined, it’s going to be 110% worth it, which my American Heritage professor says is impossible because he is actually a mathematician and numbers are important to him. But I am all words and Hermione got a 312% in Muggle Studies her third year, so I say anything goes. Worth it. One hundred and ten percent.