I feel overestimated, sometimes. Someone will say something to me, and I'll think, "Why don't you know that I can't? Why don't you know that I don't know how to hear those sorts of things?"

Last night I stayed up all night, but it was different because I wanted to. At six in the morning I stood looking out of the window and listening to the birds and the news, and that was a nice time. So far this has been a pretty nice Sunday (though it feels a bit like Saturday, because ever since Wednesday happened twice I've been behind). I'm perfectly happy today, with the breeze and the quiet and Miss Marple to look forward to.

Tomorrow I have errands that can't be put off. In my head there's a list, but I'll feel better writing it down. The Captain comes back on Tuesday and I'm excited to help her choose a specimen or two for the contest, and maybe to tell her a secret. I've got a crush on her now, as I do every summer, but she knows that. On Wednesday I'll find out about Monday, and then on Thursday I'll be strange and wound up. Friday could be anything, and on Saturday I'll watch the lights glowing against the leaves and think, "I remember you." Those lights are going to kill me.