Dear Lifebuddy,

I am sorry that you must read so much rubbish here, it's like spam to an email account, isn't it. I quake to hear of your dilemma, and I somehow, would much rather be me than you right now (oh hey presto, I am!). Whilst the man and the woman would think much of it (my man and woman would too!) I suppose that a clear conscience before God suffices very well in your predicament. Guilt has no hold in a God-clench. Facing the music wouldst be much like a blast of high frequency noise in your ears, leaving you deaf for a period temporary, yet having a little lasting damage in the end. One doesn't recommend such frequent exposure.

And yet our tummy booboos continue, should we exchange tips? (I drink a lot of tea for mine. Eng and I keep re-boiling the water). I'm quite a good hypochondriac myself when I wish it. But inasmuch as you said naught to me on the day I left (I understand why, I am comforted by it), I have little to offer you in words for words are so negatable, so insufficient (I agree with what you say about it). I suppose the offer of my comfort/presence is a little better? But i am not there to give it. So I give to you what I can. Call me expensively if you like. Email, write to me, blog. I read, my heart is with you. And you've got me, parallel universe lifebuddy, cheonger in studies, creative mind-thinker, hypochondriac conjurer, sparkleclevermorethanever chum. I will call again, when I can figure out a good time. Jolly smart of you to fix the house phone.

Meanwhile, sleep well, sleep sweetly and I prithee, put thine heart into thine studies and thinknot, worrynot.

A wee lassie in scotland thinks of you and prays for you always.

Love,
Lifebuddy.

p.s. I'm glad the party was good, you high-heeled totterer.