Home, sweet home
Life since I've gotten home has been pretty quiet. I've been sleeping off the effects of the Anafranil...it drains a lot out of you. There are scabs on my arm from the entry point of the pick-line, and the sutures used to secure the tubing in place for the duration of the 14 days. I've been picking at them, and I fear they've become infected. They'
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*caugh* Oh, yeah. Er... You wanted to know about my... er... entries. Well, I guess I may as well tell you.
You see, there's this beautiful girl in my art class. I've been rather infatuated with her for a while now, but of course I couldn't ever say it to her face because I wouldn't want to scar the poor thing for life.
So, I decided to write her a letter, telling her exactly what I think about her. I taped it to the back of her painting, so she would find it the next day.
And she did.
And she left me a message - "Email me" and an address.
I was thrilled.
And so of course I e-mailed her... but I had to be careful. I had to hide who I was, so I pretended to be a boy, and I told her I could not tell her who I am; that we could never meet each other.
In theory, it would have worked. I envisioned myself as a modern-day Cyrano de Bergerac; I would write her letters, and perhaps she would become infatuated with the letter-writer - and in doing so, would become infatuated with me.
It would have worked.
It -would- have worked, if she hadn't become so hung up on finding out who I was.
So I'm going to stop writing the letters. I can't have her find out who I am. I just... can't.
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