I had a plan once, tiny fonts and magnifying lenses. That was a thousand years ago. The problem was that it was really hard to print that small and have it be legible. I needed to do it by hand, but there are no pen points small enough.

About a week ago I was having an unsteady time, trying hard not to run away to the movies, trying hard not to run deep into the park and find that castle, and everywhere I turned there was a skittish horse or a tiny dog. Really, there are more tiny dogs around than ever, wearing houndstooth sweaters and harnessed into hot pink leashes. No one has time for full-sized dogs anymore. Anyway, I was having a good day and a terrible day at the same time, so I actually went home and consulted my horoscope. Embarrassing, but true. I am everyone I secretly make fun of. But! Then my horoscope turned out to be exactly right, so is that better, or worse? It said something like, "You feel unusually glum or out of control. Four stars." There was more, but that's the part that counts. It was like the horoscope of my dreams. Everything is horrible, everything is great! That sums up nearly every mood I ever have. In fact, that horoscope has been extended to cover every following day, and will likely cover the rest of my life. "Farewell, friendly-faced astrologer with the even friendlier bangs! I won't be needing you anymore!" Except I guess I'll keep reading it until I find another source for advice like, "Today you should vanish like a ghost," because I don't know that advice gets any better than that.

Otherwise, I inadvertently heard the ending of Moby Dick on the radio a while ago, and since then I've been working on forgetting it. I don't know that I'll ever want to read it, but I'd like the option, for crying out loud. Everyone's always giving everything away before I can get to it, and I miss too much that way. If everyone could just shut up for a while, I'd really appreciate it. At least until Christmas, would you? I have something I'm working on not finding out about.

Otherwise, otherwise, the weather is always perfect all of the time. Just the right winds, just the right clouds, just the right blue and gray and white and bright. Everything everywhere looks fantastic. I'm still great at falling asleep, but I'm waking up feverish. I guess my dream life has entered flu season, but it wears off after a little while. I'm nervous about silly things, like a birthday on Friday night, like Thanksgiving and New Year's Eve. I'm getting more flimsy or fragile or something. I've been surrounding myself with boys again like those little fences they build around new trees. I wonder when I'll miss the girls. I think I'm the kind of friend who puts people away for later, and maybe I ought to grow out of that. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but I forget that no one can read my mind. I can't find the hand that goes with my head.