My ghost

I live in a girl's room who is on holidays. It is so wierd living someone else's life. I eat her food (she said it was OK) I hang out with her flatmate (he is emo), I read her books. Some are good, like feminist books and travel books. I have also found some funny books (Cosmo sex positions guide and a volume of Ayn Rand plays). I get her mail (a newsletter from her posh private school), and I get her debts (she didn't leave money for any bills that arrived after she left but for which she was responsible). I laugh at her (she has a sparkle garden for goodness' sake, this is a collection of disco balls hanging in the garden, it is so ugly!); she is super-organised with little clear boxes for everything, and I am sometimes sad for her (she has a few books on how to deal with break-ups). I sleep in her bed, but I reject her sheets because they aren't Sheridan (I seriously hate cheap sheets). Even though I know her more thoroughly than many other people in my life, I have only met her once. I didn't like her all that much actually, she seemed too into being a vegan.