I think today marks the end of my week of being shut up in my room. I'm feeling pretty okay, and I've certainly had enough time to myself. Salinger is finished and I've moved on to a short stack of Hardy (if only he were as light and fluffy as a short stack). I've completed two rough stories and one poem. I'm off to campus tomorrow to start my graduate essay on After Lorca. Odd week ahead, full of old ghosts and friends, coffee and midnight get-togethers.
On a more disappointing and indirect note, people become terribly petty when they're angry, most often passively so, as if to distract themselves from resolution.
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