Evening Activities

I was going to reward myself with a beer tonight, a nice cold one at the bar next door, but instead I think I won't. I have done nothing worthy of reward, and I would rather sit here on my bed (looking out onto my mess of a room) and enumerate my faults. I will milk the poison out of my brain as if I were a snake; I will save it, treasure it, store it in a vial on my shelf. One day, when there is enough of it, I will spread it over my skin and watch it burn through and feel the tingly sting of eroding flesh. I will rot from the outside in and relish every second of it.

Crash!

My semester is a train wreck. It derailed, went off a cliff, flipped over a few times and landed with a loud crunching noise. Smell the air: burnt metal, burnt flesh.

In a couple of days, when finals period is officially over, they'll fish my mangled body out of the carnage, and someone will say, "But where are: two final papers, four problem sets?" I will groan and whimper, and bleed out on their shoes.

Dear Mr. Stomach,

This is a notice advising you that we find your conduct on 16 January 2007 unacceptable. According to our records, at 1:43 AM on said date you received a morsel of food from Mr. Esophagus which, according to company policy, you were required to process and forward to the Department of Intestinal Affairs. Instead, according to a complaint filed at the Gag Reflex Centre, you stated your intention to stop accepting future food packages from Mr. Esophagus, and tried to pass him back the morsel you had just received.

Here at AMZB we foster an environment of cooperation and hard work amongst our diverse team of employees that allows us to efficiently and carefully execute our very important operations. Since each task we assign is vital to the overall success of the firm, even a momentary lapse from one of our employees can be catastrophic. We therefore expect from our employees an exemplary work ethic and a meticulous care for the duties we entrust to them.

This notice serves as an official warning. Should your inappropriate behaviour continue, we shall be forced to take further action in the form of a suspension of pay or even a dismissal from our company.

If you feel that your actions have been misrepresented in this letter, please contact Ms. Brain, our Personnel Manager, and we will be pleased to review your case.

Sincerely,

The Committee for Digestive Integrity

Lonely

Back from an emotional holiday to my glib Cambridge existence. I'm not sure which is worse--feeling too much or feeling too little.

Tonight I was walking in the Square when I caught some lady staring at me. It was because I had been talking to myself--and quite exuberantly too. I think she was somewhat afraid; I was the "crazy" you cross the street to avoid.

I wasn't actually talking to myself but to a group of imaginary rapt listeners. I was explaining to them all the things I wish I could say to the people around me. Talking to people here feels slick and slippery, and you finish unsatisfied; but in conversation with my fantasy audience I can get to the root of things. We hash out ideas, laugh and cry together, really understand each other. It's less fun, though, when you can connect only to imaginary people.

I'm lonely as hell. My family is far away, and I have almost no close friends at Harvard. I miss the fuzzy warmth, the connectedness, the flow of energy you get from being around people you're close to. I spend a lot of time thinking about all the great people I see but don't know. I'm jealous of them and of their beautiful glittery lives that don't intersect with mine. I wish I were the sort of person they'd want to bother to get to know.

My grandmother's funeral will be occurring in Victoria, B.C., in just over 14 hours. I want to feel some sort of commensurate intensity, but I am cold and unsated. Everything seems unreal. I could feel if only I had people to feel with, but I am all alone.