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I had a good birthday.

I got a lot of really cool things.

I got a marvelous book. My history teacher gave me her great-grandfather's Geometry and Trigonometry textbook from 1862. That is not a typo. I am a math nerd and also love antiques, so this was soooooo great.

Also, Katie send me a lock of hair. It was a pretty fair size, too. I love hair. This was amazing. I look at it a lot. It is in a plastic cylindrical container and I cannot remove it (I wish to touch it) but this is also good because I am afraid I would ruin it.

I got many books, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathan Safran Foer (have you seen Everything is Illuminated yet? SO beautiful.), Welcome to Monkeyhouse and Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut (am I occultic?), Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood (simply because I didn't own it), Hairstyles of the Damned by Joe Meno (I feel like such an Indie hipster snob), and one other I am forgetting at the moment.

I only received three letters. No one else cares.

I have my ups and downs. Lately has been an up mostly but I increasingly feel the slighted effects of this; they are purely psychological. What if I never open myself up to anyone out of fear of repeating Kathleen?

Time has sped up. And things have piled up. This play, this application, school, they need to get off my back. I need one week to catch up on work, on art, on sleep. On recovery. I am not empty but at this point, it would be easier to be.

Why don't you say something?