I wrote Joe back this morning. Last night the fire alarm went off twice and I absentmindedly ignored it and told myself that nothing is important enough to make me get out of bed. It's still raining and everything is saturnine and peaceful. I talked to Alex for a while . . . don't even know what to say because the paragon is only being confirmed.

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Dearest Joe,

First of all, I must thank you very kindly for such an admirable remark towards me, but I regret to admit that I am not the girl harboring the superior vocabulary that my disposition may sometimes imply.

I will say though, that I do try to mix my diction up slightly now and then, and oh isn't life so tragically dull if we who live it comply with standard ideals and refuse variation? I believe it to be exceedingly. :)

You are one hell of an erudite, Joe, though your scholarly qualities are so beautifully masked by your casual air.

I was so relieved to receive your reply. I know our friendship always picks up even if it is a bit disconnected at times (never in spirit, though) and I had wondered if you had grown too busy to remember your little Jen. Long have I desired your company and long have I been deprived of it! I am afraid, seeing how it is firstly already Tuesday morning and secondly how I am busy, to announce that we will once more have to postpone our meeting. I am so happy at the thought of you, Joe, and I can't wait to see what you've been up to.

I know exactly where you are coming from with the whole writing thing. Lately (lately as in this past week) I have been so torn from leisure that it is ridiculous! My writing has been pushed out of my agenda by the tedious arrangements of a mundane life. But, I always try to make it somewhat of a priority, although sleep has been winning over writing. Before that ( as in two weeks ago) I was going through a spell, and I was feeling the following things (some of which are still plaguing my poor soul):

1) That everything I have been writing lately is just a recapitulation of everything else and why is everything so entrenched in this insane boringness that seems to prevent me from coming up with anything else other than my capricious dreams, which have been written about so many times that I myself am starting to tire of such temptations. I think this is just one confirmation of many that I need some sort of spontaneous venture out to a remote place or a roadtrip or an encounter with random people or something to awaken me. But life's so unfair like that and nothing of the sort has happened yet.

2) That everything is so contained inside of me that nothing seems to be able to break through my heart and make it onto paper. I guess I have much in my head and heart, but I can't figure out why it's so in bondage. I see it like this: Everything is always blooming into frail streams of lovely grey and for a moment coiling into these profound thoughts, but then withering and vaporizing back into my soul while I just sit there. I don't know how to describe these things, Joe!

Your story sounds wonderful; I liked the novella you sent me last so much with the two children close together in the summer loving each other with that pristine admiration. What is your new one about? I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, because as of lately, I have written almost nothing and my poetry isn't progressing too well either. I'm thinking that I'm going to make myself sit down and pour out over break. Wouldn't it be nice if it was more summery and we could go down to the pond and talk?

Joe, I know this is incredibly silly . . .. but how's George doing? You know I am in a constant state of missing him. I've been thinking about Martin too. I don't even know why, it's so bizarre. But occasionally I'll see a little bird and think of Martin and his young beak and his sweet chirp and that story you wrote a while ago about the old lady and the little bird. I wrote an essay about you for school. Really, that's the most recent thing I've accomplished. I'll let you read it sometime if you'd like. But you must promise to send me some stories and poems. Oh yea, do you remember that story about , oh what was it called... naked woods or something or other? Send to me again if you wouldn't mind. For some strange reason I want to read it. What ever happened to your book? You know the autobiographical endeavor? Will I ever be allowed to read it? :)

How's everyone doing? Ellen, and Jes, and all? I will definitely come and see you at the Loft. Don't you have some gigs before then? You should really let me take some pictures of you and Ellen.

You look so haunted in the ones on your site. Haha. They are very Joe - ish pictures indeed. But you can never have too many. Well you know I am happy to hear things are good and here we are in conversation again already wishing for summer.

Love you always,

Jen