they pulled my hair at charm school.

they stole my guestbook during rolecall.

Progress Report: your daughter's A's have turned into F's! + February 12. 2002 = 12:59 a.m.

+

I am failing out of Charm School. I say things with sharp edges. I click the phone off as soon as I hear his goodbye. Do not bother to say it back. I put my elbows on the table. I will not smile for the camera. And, as of past week , can not summon up one graceful response to the things he says that push me out of his field of vision . "i'm.not coming over.tonight. too tired." Instead, I write insipid things in the margins of my notebooks. Alone, in my room, revert to slouching and pouting.

H o n e s t l y . I know what is gnawing at me. Have been horribly spoiled by boys and their attention. And thus, am not used to all the space he likes to have around +our relations. + I have always been the one to pry fingers off from my flesh. And no, I am not being cloying. I am giving him spacespacespace. Just wish my bed was the place he wanted to get over being tired i n.

I tell him : You were on the radio three times today. And I thought: That is likely to be the closest I'll get to him for hours+.

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ghosts!