La lingua de Katia

La lingua de Katia The writings of a child from a thousand different parents

Sunday, April 18, 2004

I'm tired

I tired of writing. I have sat here for the past couple of hours revising my fuller figure story and paying around with the Everett story but I just don't feel like writing. I really don't. I read the stories for this week but I hate writing critiques. I just don't understand the point of the exercise because it feels like I am doing the same thing twice. I write out what I think then I have to share out loud what I have already written and I realize that I am just reading off of my paper. So then why do I talk at all in class?

Jane is asleep in the red chair. She is wearing an orangish cap. black betty page wig, a frayed mini skirt and an oversized knit sweater.

I am in the same pair of jeans since yesterday, Matt's orange shirt that is too snug for him and too loose for me, a pink faded puma sweatshirt,

All I want to do is lie in bed and be held.

I just returned from my attack. I spotted em walking by and I sprung from my seat, raced out the door and pounced on his back.

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