they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
night hours+ + January 7. 2003 = 10:57 p.m.
+ Night hrs prove far too cold for Narnia (Rare Bookseller's Shop. Go there twice a week to take inventory and shelve rare books. Am not allowed to reveal location & thus has been christened Narnia by friends). But, Dev and I sit in a Barnes & Noble (ah, the irony) & discuss the possibility of more hours becoming available in the following months. We scribble at faux thank you notes and pass them back & forth. ( I am supposed to be writing a real one to send to Rare Bookseller who sent me Christmas check for fall hours.) I am carrying my new red bag (which I have made a point of telling Dev is a copy of a marc jacobs spring 2002 bag __ whether it is or not __ no se , but keep telling him this due to his profound curiosity of all things mj related) and he asks if I brought pages i typed out on old 1934 Underwood for his approval. I have. Dig to bottom of bag for them. They are crumpled & one sheet has been stepped on (after I threw it across my room.) He shakes his head. I hand them over. So many things to attend to. I keep making lists, yet, nothing has been crossed off.
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class
notes, file of pom-pom
ghosts!
