I sat in my hard wooden chair, staring out the window, listening intently to the conversations happening at the table. I was paying attention. I was. I adjusted and recalibrated every word that entered my mind, rolling it around in my brain. Its like I could feel the letters slipping in and out of the mushy grey matter that made up the inside of my skull. My ears started to ring and my brain started to contract. I could feel it coming up inside my throat as it passed through my ears, rolled around and settled on my conscience. It was half way through March already, and I knew almost exactly what I would be doing for the next few months as the information I had slowly started to process hit me. There wasn't much time left. It was over before it had even started. I began to curse every fibre of my being. My being here and not there, my inability to take part in life, my being too quick to judge and make assumptions without knowing.
In the car on the way home I thought about what it all meant and why on earth it could be happening and how I could make the next few months as worth while as possible.
I thought back to that night. It had been dark, but we had sat at the end of the table discussing all the plans we had for the city. I remembered, gingerly, my day dreams about adventures and was painfully brought back to reality with the realisation that it might all end without any thing of the sort.
It was, after all, too far fetched.