Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The year I almost read 'Jane Eyre'

You know you've gone completely, geekily crazy when, having received a challenge from an old (we were 10? 11? ... !!) friend which dares you to "respond in graduate school level essay form only," you actually do so.

New letter:

Dear Tracy,

That was rather cheeky of me, wasn't it, sending you slices of my dissertation proposal and of a paper I've sent out for conferences with a letter squished between paragraphs? As though I'd spent hours and hours on the letter I sent you, when, really, all I did was take some beginnings and a bit from the middle (and that tiny end bit) and smash them together, as though they fit (oddly, they sort of did); as though, when you asked how the heck I'm doing, what you meant was: how is your work going?

I remember singing during recess. Trying to swear so I'd look cool. Trying to write a story as long as yours. Admiring your "wandering aimlessly" and then using it myself. When you and Andy hated each other.

If you write back, I'll try to respond like a normal person. No guarantees. I'm not sure I'm anything like normal.



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