I'm wearing a Cossack hat, a black jumper, and Indian skirt, and a mismatched pair of slippersocks. I went into the kitchen to find Hayley the New Mexican sitting alone (she doesn't live with us, but her flatmates had been shouting at her for smoking in her room again. Assholes. Our kitchen's open to her when she wants a fag in the warm).

She was feeling quite down. So I spoke to her for a while, tried to cheer her up. Molly, her other American flatmate and the only other normal one, is going off the rails somewhat. She comes from a stringent Evangelical Christian famiy in Pennsylvainia (whoa, killed that one), her mother's a preacher. Since she landed here it's been sex, drugs and rock n roll from the get go. Hayley's boyfriend is still in Santa Fe. So I spoke to her for a while, we had some tea.

She went home for dinner about an hour later. On her way out she said, 'You know what, Heather, you're a total weirdo. The hat. But I really would not have it any other way. Goodnight.'

I don't know why I'm telling this story. I suppose it was one of a handful of times in my life when someone has appreciated the fact that I am me.

Winter closes in my window, and I'm getting odder as the days grow shorter. Throw me a rope, Deity, be you actually Around.