I seem to have lost a month. One second I was stumbling into the second quarter of the year and now suddenly it's the second third. I may have been abducted by aliens.

Or perhaps it was the numerous worky events I had to deal with (award ceremonies for the good people of The North, our annual company review day, the continuing search for this year's Homeless World Cup England Team). And then there was Easter - went to London, saw my brother and the Tate Modern - then went to Newbury (the hell that is) to visit mum and dad and do Easter things. And I turned 33. Which is a curious age, the double numeral seems significant somehow, though probably isn't. And I wrote a play and then there's all that stuff to do with SD...

Funny how things become commonplace in life so quickly. Little habits and routines that bubble out of nowhere and hover around, sometimes for years, sometime just weeks. Writing on the train in the morning. Can't imagine life without that now. Making my coffee pot ready before I go to bed, so I don't have to mess with it in the morning. Speaking to SD in the evening. He hasn't called tonight and I wonder absently why, perhaps because his new laptop is up and running and he's back on the net. Not that I'm bothered. It's not like we have to speak every night or anything. It's just that I've become use to hearing from him most nights. Though it's nice not to sometimes. Reminds me that I miss him.

I've felt all detached recently, caught up in it all, no time to come back down to earth and let my feet touch the ground. No time to reflect on what's gone on. I grabbed a bit of time to myself on Monday and sorted through a few piles of paperwork that have been sitting around on my desk for weeks, then went up onto the hills and walked for over an hour, watching the light thicken towards evening.

Tonight, having emailed a number of very patient friends who've not heard from me for months, and washed up and checked my phone (just once) to see if I've missed any calls, I drag myself back here, though I've got nothing to say. It seems good to just say something anyway, like the random scrawls in my journal in the morning. If Winterson woke me up only a month or so ago, now I am dragged under - not asleep, but hyper awake, unable to lock on to anything for long. I spend much of the evening longing for bed, not because I'm tired but because I can stop there and just rest.

Still. Off to Vancouver in just over a week - another adventure. And life is slowly calming down again. It's all good.

Maybe there's something wrong with my phone... I'll just check one more time...