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I've developed a terrible habit of giving myself headaches and sore throats by thinking of the wrong things and talking to the wrong people. I caught a cold on the kitchen table last night. I'm exhausting this thing because I don't know how much longer it can last. It makes me more and more self-absorbed, and word around town is that it's enough already. Maybe it would be good to stop thinking about things so much, good to keep less track of it. I don't know. As it is, I'm compelled to erase every other paragraph. I need out out out of this thing. I had a dream that I was in Boston, only it was a miniature Boston, all pretty little cottages on pretty little streets. Over to the right was "the city," which was taller than where the cottages were, rows of taller (but not quite "tall") buildings with offices and shops. Over to the left was a lakish river with a small bridge running over it. There were people in rowboats racing each other. I walked down Whale Street (I love the name Whale Street, there must be one, mustn't there?) and noticed a lot of for rent signs, and decided right there in my sleep that I would move into one of those little cottages and get myself a rowboat. Sometimes I dream exactly what I want, but I never know where to find it when I wake up. My birthday is going to show up soon, and I sort of don't want to be here when it does. One night when Sam and I were walking around looking for his car I accidentally asked him to drive me to Niagara Falls on my birthday, and for some reason he said yes. Maybe because it was four in the morning on a ghost town street and I called out, "We can marvel at the hydroelectricity!" No one can resist the lure of hydroelectricity. While I do want to go to Niagara Falls (I always want to go to Niagara Falls), I don't know if I necessarily want to go with Sam. He'll make me talk about things I don't want to talk about, but I will, because he's good at getting things out of me. Also, when I tell him to go home without me, that I'm staying behind to start a new life, he'll try to make me get in the car. Google Earth, slightly magically, made a little mistake. When I typed in my address, instead of focusing on the building I live in now, it chose the building I lived in right after I was born. Google Earth remembers me fondly. I want to Google Earth everyone I know, but it feels too much like spying. Maybe I'll Google Earth dead people, or fictional characters, F. Scott Fitgerald or Encyclopedia Brown. Maybe I'll Google Earth Whale Street and get directions from here to there. I'm going to need train directions, I think. p.s. I talked to you last night, but I think I wrecked it by being too glum. You should say some pointless or awkward things to me, so that we can be even.
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