It just wasn’t me. I had reached the conclusion that the past just hadn’t been my cup of tea; I had to have at least 4 sugars in my tea; and in the past three years it had been less than sweet. Often sour, even. The internet was down (again); and everytime I couldn’t do something I had planned to do; even something as trivial as checking my email; his words came back to haunt me. “Keep happy-get organised-Dad x.” That was all he had written in the card my family had sent to me a week after I left home. They had all written something; a few lines. I had always thought my Dad had under estimated me. By a long way. He had believed I wasn’t anywhere near capable of living for myself. I knew otherwise; or at least I thought I did. There was always this idea that maybe he was right though; and this thought arose in my head every time something didn’t go to plan. I had let him down in some areas; but he wasn’t aware of the extent. I knew Id let him down; and the battle continued within myself as to whether I was in the right or the wrong. It had been confusing and it was only now; after 6 months of living 250 miles away that it was beginning to decipher itself to me. One of the end results of much thinking was that he just didn’t know me. Maybe it was a lack of understanding; or a lack of communication; but an inability to understand my ideas and my actions had definitely materialised. The previous night; (I still had my make up on) had been interlaced with irony (again), which was always something I found interesting; what the guy next door always called “the OC timing of Sarah’s life”. I had been talking to one particular person; and I went to bed at someone else’s, wearing the former’s rugby training shorts. The comedy factor came from the fact that the shorts had been given to me by the latter; who was oblivious. I slept in my place; slotted together like a jigsaw puzzle. It felt like the two pieces had been missing; and then found years later under a dusty book shelf; and smugly placed back together again. I wasn’t entirely sure how he felt; but the fact I was starting to become anxious told me it had taken a step into the direction of serious. A good thing or bad; I wasn’t sure; and I would even say I didn’t care. It was what I wanted and it made me smile. Besides; he always let me have 4 sugars in my tea. One thing that did make me wonder, though, was that he wasn’t all too aware of my life before I came here. I had always assumed that was a bad thing; but what did I have to gain by his knowledge? Perhaps he would understand me better; but I wasn’t sure that was necessary. If he didn’t understand, like everyone else, I would risk loosing him or creating problems with the perfection it was. Emotional drama was what I did best; It was all I had known since 14, and after a semester or 2 here, I had almost boiled game playing down to perfection. I figured that things hadn’t always been this rosy; so perhaps this was why-I could almost say I had played down the dramatic side of my life to the point of non-existence. Whatever it was; whatever I had done, consicoulsy or subconsciously, it seemed to have worked. I was now getting tea in the mornings with at least 4 sugars; made by my rugby guy with great arms. Of course life was rosy. Dad was impressed with him (for once); and suprisingly I was aswell. Not only had he made me realise I had to let go of his prior; he made an awesome cup of (sweet) tea.