Earth to Margaret's Mom: CHECK YOUR EMAIL, WOMAN! I cannot get a hold of her if she doesn't CHECK HER EMAIL! That woman is dead to me.

Today, I think, will include a trip to the greengrocer. And maybe telephone calls! And letter writing! I should buy a phonecard. I'm going mad for lack of human contact sometimes. I worry that having too few friends makes me too much of a bother to the few I have. I swear I'm not hideously dependent upon others... oh, fuck it, I think I am. I shouldn't kid myself.

Tonight will include The Welsh Class.

Cheers, my loves.

P.S. Everyone should call me. Call me call me call me. I'm probably as expensive to call as Australia or Canada or the States. I'll sit around and whinge until you do so, it will be unpleasant and you won't much care for it.

The Girls, my girlfriends, have been sending me utterly hilarious emails (you must take my word) about really obscure Latin grammar (it just sounds funny, passive periphrastic!), obsolete philosophies, and other such nerdy things as well as male escorts. My Dad has sent me emails about Scablands (It just sounds gross) and Martian channels (did you know he did research for NASA? I used to tell kids in grade school that he was an astronaut), and my mother has sent me NO EMAILS because she doesn't CHECK her email and she OUGHT to.

The girl on my hall with whom I am becoming friends said that she does lab practicals "for the coloring." She's a cute little thing, and weirdly reminds me of me (Yesterday she pointed to Main Arts and said "I want to live there!" Which is something I say about buildings all the time.) She is so cute.

Seven am fire alarms are not my cup of tea. Or panad o de if you're Welsh.

2003-02-05, second, of two

before / after

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