A SECRET STAR THAT CANNOT SHINE OVER TO YOU
I want to learn how to ride a bike so badly. Sometimes I get flooded by thinking about all of the things that I can and should be doing with my life, and how long it takes me to do one simple, smaller part of them, like laundry, say, that I don't even think about how much I want to do those other things. It's a constant feeling of inadequacy, dissatisfaction, that I don't think I'm ever going to buck. But I was thinking about riding a bike to the library in my skirt, a scarf trailing behind me, and I don't want to give that up just because I never learned in the first place, because I wasn't daring enough. The city isn't exactly the most desirable place for learning how to ride a bike, or is it? Or am I just a wimp? If you find a really solid, old Schwinn, maybe you should tell me about it.

Today, other than that, is satisfying. I'm doing real research work for the department, which is difficult and kind of confusing, but I may be named as a co-editor on this book. On the cover. Don't get too worked up about it yet, but it is a possibility. God, I'm so infatuated with scholarship: the pens, pencils, notecards, quiet footsteps in the library. You, me, and Borges makes three.