Met up with a Plett friend who started off our friendly drink at the Rat by telling me that he had found and read my blog. More specifically, a post about himself. As I recall, not a glowing account. I'm starting to wonder about the value of posting now. I'm loving the rhythm of it, sitting with headphones full blast, trying to ignore the curoius looks of my classmates, forming seemingly innocuous statements about people I know. And now I wonder if he'll read this post.
I don't think he's the bookmarking type.
I got through the drink, which was actually fun despite my mind constantly returning to the 'what did I write?' question between sips and laughs. I got home, did some washing, agonised a bit about it and finally came to the conclusion that hey - I write what I mean, and I'm not about to go back and edit the post or anything. I haven't even gone back looking for it.
Despite all the agonising, today has taken on a different tone. I can say tomorrow now. I'm leaving tomorrow. This is my last night. I love that. The next time I enter Grahamstown will quite likely be the last time I enter it without prospect of a later re-entry, if that makes sense.
I foresee a great vac. Visits to Plett, finally finishing London Fields, pushing portfolio deadline to the back of my mind for 10 days and getting ready to actually let go of my Sparky forever.
This is a 
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