Took two exams today, one a critical analysis essay of the canon and poets whose works aren't very exciting, the other an epic fail of a multiple choice test. In between the tests I sat through another workshop, and eventually found myself splattered on the futon by noon, a grilled salami/ham/pepperoni sandwich in one hand, a pint of whiskey in the other.
Joking. I was licked, though.
So when I'm bone-exhausted, sick of people and classes, I turn to my legal pad and any pen that's up for the job of writing openly, freely, letter after crumpled letter. I write to stop feeling. I write to feel something. But mostly I write letters to people, to old friends, to my sister, to those that have come to matter in my life.
I'm not sure what's more therapeutic, more stress-relieving...the actual writing of the letters, or licking the envelopes and plastering crazy stickers around the person's name. Maybe it's the process...the writing, the licking, the dropping in the mailroom, the imagined whisking away of my love to places all across the country.
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