[center:1vj34hwu]She keeps it locked in her writing desk, an antique, hulkish thing of maple wood fitted together just so; the drawer locks, but that big rusty key stays in the keyhole near constantly, so the tucking away of things is more for neatness than security, and that leather journal (fashioned to look as old as the desk by the good suppliers of Barnes and Noble) is easy to find if one knows where to look.

A particular entry:[/center:1vj34hwu]

Got whacked in the arm today with a crowbar. Hurts. Don't think anything got broken. Some crazy lady on the street came after N. with it and caught her upside the head. No idea why. Got arrested, though, so there's some sort of justice left, I guess.

Saw Austin for coffee. Went horribly. Pretty sure he was hitting on me and on the way home I nearly turned my bike around three times to go to his house. Never did, though. Too worried about what I'd do when I get there.

Couldn't just talk. Can't talk about anything I really want to so what would I even do with my mouth? Make mistakes, I think.

Doing a lot of those lately.

His kid is cute. If life were a little more normal -

Haven't heard much from any R's recently aside from Psycho and Punching Bag. Even that was a few days ago which I am glad for - running out of cigarettes. Used to only need them for finals. Hate how often I need them now. Bad habits.

Glad for silence though. Sick of running out to deal with them. Hoping they find someone else to do their stitches and forget about me.