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I sit alone in Freedom. Rachel, who wouldn't stop talking to me in Psych, hasn't spoken a word since she wound up in a class with friends. Nicole and her friend sit with me sometimes, but only because there's no extra seats at the Rachel table. And all they talk about is getting drunk and throwing up on various things.

I don't mind. I really don't. I'm grateful Rachel doesn't talk to me anymore, and I relish in her awfulness. Her blatant need for companionship is fascinating.

I'd also rather spend my time listening to Ed than her.

I also also enjoy basking in self-satisfaction when Rachel consoles Erin by saying that Ed only gives out C's. When I have three fat A's on my desk.

Was going to go for a walk.

Then I didn't.

I still haven't opened the birthday card I got after Grandma died.

I don't know, I don't think I'll ever feel that there's a "right moment."

Maybe I'll reread all seven HP's to prepare opening it. The first four, at least, feel like that house. Maybe then.

What I'm most scared of is getting some impersonal thing like always. Our family is so impersonal and I've inherited all of that. But I also don't want some message gushing with love, because then it'd just be a lie.

I don't like Cold Blood. Capote has good diction, but he's tooting his own horn WAY too much. This book was only written so he could hear himself talk. I can FEEL the egotistical orgasms trembling off the page.