June 16th 2020

Today I went to visit my friends at the house they’ve just bought. We intended to sit outside in the garden together, but the rain put an end to that plan, so we sat, disobeying the law, together in their front room.

Sorry Boris, blame the sky. Sorry Mum, blame Jim. Sorry Jim, blame Boris.

In that living room were 7 of my closest friends, and we’re all at different stages in our lives. 3 have bought houses. 2 still live at home. 2 live together. Plus me is 8. One of the boys who lives at home is in such a bad situation, home-wise. And I’m not going to talk about it because it’s his story and not mine, but it just broke my heart to sit there and listen to him rant about the situation he’s in. Because as much as we try to help him, he won’t change his mind.

This doesn’t explain much without knowing the story, but he is gallant, and chivalrous, and hard-working. But he’s unlucky. I sat there and I felt blessed that my life has had none of the problems that he’s faced.

I don’t feel chivalrous, or gallant, or hard-working. I just feel lucky. I wish I could help him, because otherwise he’ll become stuck in an unbreaking loop, destined to repeat.

Until tomorrow, I feel lucky, but I don’t feel good about it.


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