"But the Tune is Bitter and it Doesn't Take Long to Learn..."

Why am I still awake?

I got out loads of books from the library to-day. ^__^ Even with the bookmarks Manon hath given me, I shall never have enough. I got out Death of a Salesman, because I've been rather wanting to read it for so long, and a good deal of John Bellairs, because of speaking about it with Miss Zara.

But I still have Claudius the God to finish-- almost three-hundred pages by Tuesday. There are some books where three-hundred pages go veryvery fast, but Claudius the God is not one of those books, despite the absolutely delightful style of writing. It takes me for-ever. I only manage an average of fifty-four pages for hour treadmilled, which will not be quite enough to get it done by Tuesday, I am thinking--or perhaps it will be, actually. I have six and half hours to treadmill before Tuesday, so-- Ha. I fail at maths, once again!

Mum has decided 'tis time I got sex-ed, being fifteen (or fourteen?) years old and having no idea about anything. So I have a dictionary of sex education from the U.K., and for the first time in my life am being enlightened, except for when petronelle educated me, all of which I promptly forgot two months later. I am-- well. It's all very interesting, isn't it? I feel like such an innocent pathetic flaily little thing.

I have to get up very early to-morrow. I cannot believe I am still awake. ;_____;

...On the plus side, I don't think I have too much to do to-morrow? Ahhh life you are eating me alive again why? I hate this. Flaily. I have no time for taking walks or sleeping or reading any more except treadmilling. Not happy.

There has to be some cure for being a Soujin. I fully intend to find it.

"On a white chalk horse we'll ride..."

Life does not exist to-day, please. I don't want it.

It's so dark here, but not badly... dark like my icon dark.

I'm making cake again and listening to music and not doing any exercise, for which I shall pay (I love how my solution to my horrible self-image is not exercising or not dieting for a day. logic? what logic?); but I am so tired, and I wanted to sleep, and I did, alas.

So I am wearing my twenty-five cent Sewanee dress, which is black but with rainbow trim on the sleeves and collar and waist. So pretty. And to-night Waen and I will be home alone and watch films and be silly, and Miss Zara will telephone, for which I am impossibly excited and glad. And I have so much to read, and I shall read.

I have poetry to write to-day...! I shall write poetry to-day.

My burns cannot believe I scratched them open yesterday. They are complaining painful loud.

...Sillysilly Soujin.

Haven't brushed my hair all week. My suitcase is still unpacked from when we went to Blue Mountain Lake. I don't understand this lack of desire.

This is not a reassuring post, is it? Augh, I'm sorry. I'm fine, really. My discontent is always the same thing, and it's so pervasive and always there that I don't really think about it that much most of the time. Eventually, I assume, I'll just get used to it--is this what it will be when I'm fixed?

At any rate, I'm quite all right.

Shall go finish my cake now. Also need Waen to help me make bread. Not sure she'll agree.

"Am I Not Your Lover To-day...?"

Waen and I made bread! ^_________^ Fish bread, like she made for Lillie!

And she made me a tiny little filled roll all of my own, with the leftover dough, and it was perfectly round and hot and sweet and absolutely lovely--

AlsohiIhavetheplotforFortinbras/HoratiosoIshallwriteitsoon.

Plot. Yes. Ahaha. Is going to be rather evil--and use an idea of mine and Miss Zara's, actually, from Olivier!Hamlet. :D :D :D

Since Waen isn't playing guitar any more, but we still have our guitar, Mum said I might could be able to teach myself to play it. I should like that very much, I think--it's such a pretty instrument, and my fingers aren't very clever, but I might be able to learn--! I might. I should like to try, at any rate.

I have accomplished nothing to-day, and at the moment don't mind particularly. Later I shall reproach myself. Now I don't mind.

...Mm.

"Bei Mir Bist Du Schon Means That You're Grand..."

I promised, I did, and it came, which was very nice, because it sometimes doesn't, so--

Poetry for Miss Fish--

--

--I am unable to come up with titles any more.

( (Inside of a Shell) )

"Leave Your Body at the Door..."

Feeling quite poemish to-night, I think. ^___^

( Home Letter )