Just now

I went to the charity shop and picked up a nice pair of trousers for a quid. Then I went to the hamburger joint, so I'm feeling quite dehydrated and hyperactive now. The weather's horrible; cold, overcast and drizzle, so that put me off going anywhere on the bus.
While I was walking back to the library, I remembered what I'd been thinking about first thing this morning. It was about friends, and my friend in Scotland in particular. The last time we made contact was over a year ago. He'd sent me a text message and I responded by letter. My usual habit is to tell people that everything is great, but on that occasion I told the truth. I said that I was in dire straits and that I was going through a terrible time of it. I never heard back. The disappointing thing is that I'd helped out with the pennies at least a couple of times when things were going badly for him. Of course one doesn't give in order to receive. I gave gladly. But you can't blame me for being disappointed that there wasn't even an offer of help, and not even a single kind gesture. I've given this a great deal of thought, and I'm quite happy to let sleeping dogs lie.
I'd like to think I've learned from my mistakes, but I expect I probably haven't. I can't help being who I am, but I don't want to be mean either. I am open-handed when I'm able to be and will always give of myself, and on account of it I have always attracted people who are delighted to take, when I'm happy to give. I'd like to think it won't happen again, but there probably will be a next time sooner or later.