I will write you letters that explain the way I'm thinking

Am very full. Danielle's parents are in town this week, and very VERY kindly took me out to dinner with them tonight. We went to Pizza Express, and had dessert and everything. They also brought a whole suitcase filled with food for Danielle. Food that I can share with her.

Other than that, I've been getting back into the swing of school. Very poorly. I couldn't be bothered to organize myself last weekend, so I've kind of just gone to lectures and taken notes and came straight home this week. A lot of that had to do with the fact that I've felt slightly ill all week. I don't really know what it is. It jumps around. In the day time, it's a queasy stomach. As the night progresses, I get slowly more congested and develop a cough which seems like by morning I should have a full blown cold, but then mysteriously goes away after I wake up to be replaced by more queasiness. I just don't understand. I am convinced, though, that somehow the English are trying to kill me. Don't even try and pretend the paranoia isn't justified.

I also really need to start plugging away at coursework, or I will be in big trouble. This term just isn't as motivating as last, though. I'm kind of tired of it. None of the coursework is exciting. Even Manuscript Studies, which is normally a good class, was boring this week. I also feel less structured than last term, which is wreaking havoc on my lack of self-motivation. I just want to frolick around London. I'm over all this "school" stuff. This summer when I have endless stretches of free time, when I'm meant to be writing my dissertation, will be the end of me. I assure you.

I've been hanging around with Andy more. I can't help it. He's the most fun person I've met here. He's smart as all get out, and knows something interesting about everything. We went to the British Museum and told me stories about the artifacts, without even knowing that I'm the kind of person who likes being told stories. Mostly we just go for coffee or drinks, and I listen to him for hours. I could listen to him for hours more. He's surprisingly not bored with me yet, even though I have yet to match him in interestingness. My verbosity is limited to the written form, I'm afraid. We'll see how long he puts up with that.

So that's the story here from London. Nothing rant-worthy occuring for once. I mean, if you're all disappointed, I'm sure I could find something to go on about. It's just a skill I have.