I'm in the library now during break. The silence here is cold but comforting, and the "quiet light", lying peacefully on everything, on the screen, my face, my fingers, on me. It gives me a nice delusion that I can say anything I want here and it will just be carried away by rippling waves of light. That maybe my thoughts will reach a place nicer than the one my mortal body is stuck in. But of course I know it isn't true really. Yes, I know life isn't really bad.

I don't have anything much to say now because I'm not feeling anything.

I wonder if anyone has ever tried posting a blank message on her blog.

There's going to be Plath for Lit later. I should like that.

...I miss him, and I'm tired of finding real people as his substitutes.