Life by numbers

1. Hey, I miss my friends. Dave and Anna, if you should by some chance read this: when will you stop being so selfish with your "working on weekends" and "going to grad school" shtick and come visit me finally? Jesus. But, you know, give me some warning first, because my place looks like a bomb hit it.
Same goes for others. You're all so damn selfish.

2. I made a startling discovery recently. I am so... tired... of smart people. I can't stand them. The only ones I can stand are the smart ones that I'm already friends with. Other than these, no. Go away. I hate brains. Stop thinking! Talk about something dumb. I'll admire you so much more.

3. To quote Nina: "You've gotten so boy crazy ever since you became a librarian." And it's true. I told my mother this. Her response: "Everyone knows librarians are nymphos."

4. I can't write anymore. I don't know how. I read back to myself the first page of something I've been writing, and it sounded like a printer manual. The city was almost uninhabitable in August. The heat shimmered and shifted and baked the huts and highway the color of drab. There's no rhythm in that whatsoever. Maybe my mistake was reading it out loud to myself. My voice and my monotone are not nice to listen to. I don't even like to listen to myself. And then I get flak for not talking. Have these people, these people who give me flak, heard my voice?
Anyway, from now on I'll imagine Jeremy Irons reading my stuff out loud. See? Doesn't that instantly make those lines a tad bit better? Just a tad?
If by some grace of God I should ever get my act together, write novels, and get famous for my novels, then I should hope no one asks me to record any books-on-tape. (There's egomania for you, eh?) God no. Ask Jeremy Irons to do it. S.K.F. is unavailable. We don't even know if s/he's a man or a woman! That's so Victorian! Like George Eliot! and Georges Sands! and George Clinton! I'll keep the mystery of my gender safe and employ Jeremy Irons as my official voice. Just as long as I don't have to talk to him. He's a little creepy.