11 March 1995

by jkatejohnston

Dear Max,

In eleven days I will begin my real life. I’ll get off the plane, and there she’ll be—stuck with me forever. What should I wear?

In the meantime my boobs hurt, and I need dental work, and I’m actually supposed to be asleep right now. I decided to start getting up earlier, an idea which now seems mad.

If you really must know, all I’m doing here is trying to put off the evil hour when I’ll finally be forced to work on my novel. I suspect that the real reason I sleep in is that I simply don’t want to face that task. I do it every morning, and ye gods, it’s like jogging, just always painful and stupid.[1]

[1] Note added 2013–I did finish that novel. It don’t think it’s horrible, but it’s definitely not very good. And guess what it’s about? Me!