second anne
I am chewing ice at the formica table in our cabin, and all of the windows are fogged over. We have been eating without stopping since 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and my hands almost will not move. My face is purple and I can't feel my tongue. My brother and I had a secret pie party in the laundry room last night after our parents went to bed, and my mom is making another pie today for reasons that I can't quite fathom. Our dinner last night consisted of ham and challah bread, as we delight in being Bad Jews whenever possible.
Man! I can't think straight at all. I don't know if it is the food or the altitude or something else, but I'm still hungry and I am constantly distracted. I am going back to school in January and I suppose I will have to stick it out this time. I have gotten into the habit of reading halfway through a book and then losing it behind the bed or between the cushions of a couch. It's hot in here. The clocks are wrong.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it before, but I am wildly intimidated by the fact that more than fifty people have subscribed to this journal. I keep thinking about that teacher - who had won the Whiting Award and told me I was pretty, so I felt like I had to listen to him - who shit regularly on the confessional poets. No one cares about your bathtub! I haven't written anywhere for weeks and I'm getting a headache from trying to be succinct. I read more Camus, and then I read a book about Camus, and then my mother told me that I needed to go outside for a while because my pacing was driving her crazy. Calisthenics acquire a strange edge when there is a family of raccoons watching from beneath the woodshed.