but luck's division is perverse/it seems to work more in reverse

I am not myself these days
for all I know I might be you
there's more than room enough for two inside my head



If you must know, I see more schoolkids than homeschoolers wearing pajamas to school.
And yes, I am homeschooled. or was. I'm not sure which anymore. I still feel homeschooled if that counts.


here I am in the library. I've pulled two big, comfy chairs together and my stockinged feet rest on one of them - Converse (a little rainsoaked) slump on the floor. I'm writing on my math book because it's bit and solid, and makes me look studious. my excuse for taking up two chairs. the math book will soon be discarded in favor of Edwin Drood.

which is another thing: I have formed a new obsession with Dickens.
I know I'll be extremely frustrated when I rech the end (or, more correctly, the middle) of Edwin Drood. While I'm reading it though, I forget that it's unfinished; I read each word by itself, not thinking where it leads. I almost don't want to finish it, because I can't stand to be mad at Dickens for not finishing it.
and I can't figure out how to justify being upset with him for dying.

so I, homeschooled me, I'll start math, look studious for awhile, look out the window for awhile, and then stop the show to get my little, unfinished paperback, "The Mystery of Edwin Drood."

.....then I'll realize the time and rush myself to class marginally late - again.




Dickens is worth it.