2003-07-05 / 4:19 p.m.

Look, I can't just writhe at the computer when you're busy at work. I can't wake up wondering what I'm going to be presented with in the way of American Lit today. It's one thing to get all flustered when the words come too fast and you don't give me a second to breathe; that's fine, it's life-affirming and exhilarating. This is tormenting. I need fuel, damn it, and you're hoarding a never-ending supply and yes, I realize you have a life/job/girlfriend/all that and I have more free time than a slug on vacation, I don't care. Write me write me write me. I told you I was a brat; don't sit there like you're surprised.

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