she's scrubbed him out of her mind. torn down the poem and breathed out his words and his voice. he doesn't want her anymore.happy sunday. slept late and bathed languid, wandering house in thick white oversized bathrobe with blue nail polish chipping from toes. there's much classwork to be done but thinking about climbing and playing outside. on the porch the last summer flowers and brittle and brown.
not working is still lovely but is also somewhat lonely; am looking for a new placement within the coming weeks. or not. we shall see. i'll learn from the art institute this week what classes i'll be teaching - it's looking now like 3 or 4, rather than one. tis good, very exciting.
and how have you been? [she misses you. she'd never tell you this, of course. it would only make you colder.]
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