This is my sister and I. No exaggeration.

Voicemail: You have one new message.

Message: Hi, Camie, it's Katie. Is Clarissa real? Did Virginia write a book about Laura?

Me (picking up and dialing phone at work): Katie, Clarissa is from the book Mrs. Dalloway, and the original title of that book was The Hours. Michael Cunningham created the character of Laura. Who on earth has been telling you crap like Virginia Woolf wrote a novel called The Hours? The Hours is Mrs. Dalloway! Okay, see you when I get home.

Edit: If the above failed to convince you of my extreme literary geekiness, let me tell you that I carry a Virginia Woolf tote bag from Barnes and Noble. Yeah, the canvas one with Mrs. Woolf's beaky profile on the side. Don't laugh, you know you all want one.

I know I haven't said much lately, but everything is so cram-packed together. Getting up, walking, lifting weights in my basement. Toast and lemonade for breakfast while I watch bits of The Nanny. I read- I read a lot, even for me, and my room is filled to bursting with books. Three bags from my university library. I'm watching movies and the telly in between meals. I write little scraps of stories and want to go shopping. I love root beer floats. I can't live without vanilla ice cream in the summer. At work, I type and organize and answer phones. It's horribly dreary but it's 6.65 an hour and I get to say that I'm a sec-re-tary. Cat-eye spectacles and black jumpers. My lack of words doesn't mean I have nothing to say but that I'm not focusing enough.

I've missed writing in here. It's funny how you get out of practice.

I've been so tired lately.