Today I spent a while on a park bench talking on the telephone. It's the best bench for miles, and only two blocks from my door. It has a full view of my strongest childhood landmarks. I'm going to make as many of my phone calls from there as possible from now on. The timing is perfect, I suppose. I'm grudgingly giving into spring. I don't much like it this year. Spring is like fall that tries too hard. Spring is like fall's irritating little sister who just needs too much attention. For Pete's sake, I don't have enough patience for anything anymore.

I spent the evening sitting around, eating a tuna sandwich and drinking a glass of grape juice, waiting for the sun to go down, dressed as Encyclopedia Brown. This is how my evenings go now. I accidentally gave up going out at night for Lent. It's been weeks. I don't drink or cause trouble or stay out too late. I quiet around, minding my own crossword puzzles and drinking cold tea. I can't seem to catch it hot anymore. Anyway, I said I might go out tomorrow night, barely, and now I'm nervous. I can get nervous over anything.

I'm generally just too anxious for my own good. It's partly the sugar in the grape juice and partly this feeling I get near the end of most months, the feeling that what I'd really like is to take the rent money and run away from home, never to be seen again. I'm just kind of excited, but I can't tell exactly what about.