Nothing spectacular happened; I got up and things were cheerful and chatty in my head, and on the walk to work people going the other way picked up on it and smiled back. I was alone at my desk with my mp3 player and Margaret Throsby was being attentive and engaged in my ear. On my lunch break, a gossip magazine wrote about Ellen Degeneres and Portia de Rossi's wedding using the word 'lesbian' never, and variations on the phrase 'look how much they love each other' many times.

I got back from my complementary health test (nothing much I didn't already know) at 4pm, and had that urge to just stay; the work was there in front of me, peaceful and satisfying. I packed up anyway, chatted to my boss, and then to the reception staff, about the health test. Finally bought bi-carb soda on the way home. I missed my train and sat next to two young, beautiful women on the platform who were laughing and chatting, switching effortlessly mid-sentence between English and what I think was Swahili.

Now I'm home, there's lovely, swelling music in my ear, and outside, it rains.
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