I got a call on the weekend from a store that wants to give me a job interview. I didn’t call the woman because I’m too anxious right now to deal with that stress. I know that I need a job, but the whole process is so nerve racking.

I ate too much food all weekend and now I feel so fat. Yeah, what’s new. I wish I could find some of my old “will power”. I feel like one of those teeny bopper girls who has lost her “ana”. Maybe she’s under my bed.

I got out of bed at one in the morning in a creative outburst. My eyes ached from my three hours of highway driving, but I scrawled about six pages of a story that appeared in my head. I want to enter a short story contest that closes at the end of December. Even though I’m sure I won’t win, I’ve never entered. I have to get serious about my writing. It’s such a wonderful experience to sit and have eloquent thoughts pour out in blue ink.

I also signed up for this site. I’m sure I won’t make the 50 000 word goal, but it will be fun trying. I like their way of thinking. People always say they will write a novel some day, so why not right now? It shall be fun and a nice way of procrastinating during my busy November of essay writing.

I ran into D. on campus today. He was with a guy that was in our residence first year, J. This guy is so hot and so fucking smart. He has no respect for the ignorant or oblivious. I had such a huge crush on him, even though he was my then-boyfriend’s good friend. He took a year off to go to Australia, so today was the first time I saw him in over a year.

From my room in residence I could hear his pants make swishing noises as he walked down the hall. He fixed my computer. He talked of physics experiments and Kant. He left his sweater in my room and I “forgot” to tell him, hoping he wouldn’t come back for it and I could keep his smell in my tiny room.

Too bad D. was there and I couldn’t flirt with J. I guess I’m still horribly mad at D., even though I refuse to send him my psychotic letter. For now, at least. The heart of the letter is this: “You made me hate myself”. I realise that though my intention was bluntness and simplicity, that is a horrible, awful, unforgivable thing to say to someone. I don’t want him to feel too guilt. On the other hand, I’m worried that he wouldn’t really care, anyway.

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