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10.17.03 - 2:27 p.m. i am not intentionally on an exodus but as i have been writing to the majority of you personally or group-ly i think that has been taking its place. I am not wanting to move from this spot but at the same time i want to eat a lot of chocolate and peanut butter. I have been thinking a lot about chocolate lately as i I dont feel like writing. I feel like going home and lazing around and taking a bath and watching the tv that we dont have and turning up the heat too high and then sleeping with the knife in the peanut butter at my side, in case i wake up hungry. And i dont want to think any more about virginia woolf. I think that Woolf might be the last person on the face of the planet that one should read whilst on ones period. I mean, please, more estrogen. I dont want to make a claim and support it and i dont want to talk to anyone else and i dont want to have to walk home in the coldish almost fall with this heavy heavy bag and slow down behind slow people and wait in the wind for cars to cross the street and walk and walk down our road with nothing interesting to look at, but then, at home, i can take a nap, but i wont sleep because i hurt and so i will wake up and i will be thankful that i dont have a tv becasue today is one of those days where i wouldnt be able to get away from it. Maybe i will take another shower and floss my teeth and shave my legs and then try to sit and write and then try to take a nap instead and then get out of the bed and look out of the window. Maybe i will get mail today. Please let me get mail today. Today i feel old too, the kids at this school are kids. Their voices are so young, high pitched, and there is so much breathing, intake of breath, rushing out in nervous laughs. I feel completely unassociated to them. Im relieved i am not that age anymore and i am surprised that when i was 18 i most likely had a high pitched voice and these girls wouldnt have surprised me. And also, i want no boys, but just peanut butter please, and no girls with their high pitched voices. I think i would be happy to just lay in bed and look out of the window. I think today is a day where i could not talk to anyone and be most content to lay on my side and look out of my window with one eye. Shit, i think i am writing like Virgina Woolf. Yesterday in workshop i wrote like Joyce my professor said and then looked at me to see if i agreed. I wish i had read some Joyce so i could agree. I dont know where my story is going. I am falling in love with all the wrong people again as well. And falling back in love with ones i left behind long ago. I wonder why. Maybe something about familiarity in unfamiliarity. My undershirt is too small. When i sit down it rises up and collects above my ribs. I will give it to brad. The part it is covering feels really good though; accounted for. I think i am gaining weight. Its because the thing i feel like eating all the time is peanut butter and i seem to struggle with it at every meal time. Here is what i want: To get a packet of Halloween candy-- the miniature candy bars and unwrap them one by one and dip them in peanut butter. And then, when im about halfway through with the bag i would unwrap two at a time and put more peanut butter on one and slide the other on top like a sandwhich and eat it in one bite. Oh, to be able to do something like that! I would make myself sick on chocolate and peanut butter today and lay in bed and look out of the window with one eye open and all the noises of the neighborhood emptying into only one ear and peanut butter on each side of my mouth. The people in the circulation office just spoke these words in order: Cocoa, Chocolate, Creamy, Bitter, Smooth, Powder, Hot Chocolate, Cocoa. It rushed to my ear and flung itself inside, charging into the creamy peanut butter middle. And last night the dryer was repeating, "Dont Forget Me" I tried to show brad but the cycle changed just as i found her. I am not crazy. I am a woman in love with Jiff. � 
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