His room is now occupied by Henry, who is never in the flat when I am in the flat. Our days off do not coincide, and he works from midday until midnight or later, whereas I work from the morning until mid evening. Our paths barely cross, so when I hear him coming home at 12.30am and cracking open a beer with Ben, I go out and sit with them, enjoy their company, and chew the fat for three hours. It's a comfort, like a teddy bear or a security blanket, to have someone in the flat to talk with. Its felt like I don't have that recently, because of a mixture of things.
Firstly, because Jack has gone, and he was my go-to kid for all things pointless. If it wasn't playing / watching the other play assassins creed for hours, it was sharing a bottle of wine and just gabbling about life.
Secondly, because second flat mate is slightly pre-occupied at the moment. And he seems to be distanced by his pre-occupation, more so than just 'being busy'.
Thirdly, because all I want is to be able to talk about the thousands of things in my head that only a handful of people can fully understand, and most of those people just don't turn up in my house every night for shits and giggles.
And lastly, because I'm doing that weird things where I disappear into myself. I'm so busy thinking about the restaurant, my parents, my sisters, the world, the other things I need to keep in my head until I can get them sorted, that my immediate worries and insecurities get pushed aside, pushed inside, and swallowed up within myself. One day they have to come out; I just hope it's not in a drunken spiel with a dozen witnesses. I hope my dignity can remain slightly intact for this one.
Meanwhile, I manage a coffee house / restaurant, I mull over the looming dissertation, I hope to be able to do exercise soon because my jeans are getting tighter and my wallet has no idea what to expect over the next few months.
I'm excited to see the kids for my birthday though. Especially the brummey one, as he was missing from the last reunion.