That was the second time this semester someone has called my number and asked for Sylvia. It was a woman, this time. I have to stop telling them it’s the wrong number. It’s not, really.
I am very upset with my ear. I am very upset with myself. I’m glad I didn’t bring my Plath journals with me, or I’d probably spend the whole day reading them and identifying, instead of getting any actual work done.
Posted by caroline at April 4, 2005 2:08 PM"Sylvia? Sylvia, is that you? Sylvia, it's Ted. Sylvia, are you there? Sylvia? Wendy Cope keeps making fun of my internal poet policeman thing. Sylvia, make me dinner."
Posted by: ben at April 4, 2005 6:31 PMplease leave that exact message on my machine, to match the curl of myself in bed. :)
But, all right: buttered noodle it is, then.
Posted by: caroline at April 4, 2005 7:56 PM