The bat returned yesterday. She burst through the front door in all her dotty glory, bearing kooky gifts for even the most immobile of the family (Boris). I graciously accepted the pair of flip-flops she gave to me; they’re quite adorable, if I say so myself. She was so happy to see me (upon hearing that I’m a registered runaway she grew incredibly worried about me. OH! I FORGOT TO TELL YOU! I’m a registered runaway. To make a long story short: mum wanted me home and I told her I had decided against it, so I stayed with a friend for a night. I came home to a scared, tired family and the news that I was a registered runaway for one beautiful day. I’ll write about it later) She toddled up to me as quickly as her old, fragile legs would allow and threw her arms around me.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” She said exasperatedly. “I ran away once. Ended up in a swamp. It was terrible…” Upon remembering this occurrence she seemed to forget all about her fears concerning me and my runaway tendencies, and twaddled back down the stairs after patting Boris three times on the head. Loony, eccentric, and just plain odd, but nice to have around after a month of near-sanity in my house (yeah right).

It’s late. I leave you all now to delve into the inexact realms of unconsciousness. I plan to do this right after consuming plentiful amounts of over-the-counter allergy medication. My nose is trying to kill me, see. Hmmm…little pink pills, how I adore you….