And this is a pig you don't need to see.

My Mum sent my roommate and I a package full of little wrapped presents and chocolates. I opened one this morning and got a mini anteater named “Antsy”.
“Beatitude Anthology” is sitting on my desk as I write. It’s a bizarre old poetry book. One of my favorite stanzas:
“I dreamt
& saw her face in a hothouse sequence
kiss my loins & steam my ears .
I remember she had a big nose . O
The grief burned sadly, like the leaves
On that street in Rockville Center”
-David Meltzer
There’s a poet named simply “Jo” in the credits. She writes sweet little poems that are spread out all across the page. They’re a little cliché, but somehow sincere.
I’d really like to be an artist or a poet but 1) what if I run out of material and I can’t find the wire of inspiration ever again? 2)……
This all sounds too whiney, I’m moving on.
Instead of buying tissues, I use toilet paper rolls out of the bathroom. Antsy’s tail fits neatly into the center of the roll. His snout points straight up, sniffing my room for even tinier ants.
I wish I could leave on Monday but I think I’ll have to wait until Wednesday. I love doing laundry. I want to do everyone’s laundry on my floor. I bet I could do that in two days. The laundry rooms are always busy but I could practically live down there if I don’t have classes. The trouble is, I only know around two people on my floor and that’s not nearly enough laundry.