I had to miss the poetry class on Halloween. This was disturbing. I should have tried to go. I could have made it. No use trying to reinvent the past. I had to miss out. I hate to miss out. I am easily disappointed.

Sad girls are responsible. They take on the tedious tasks no one else wants to do.

If I’m very busy writing, I won’t have time for tedious tasks.

But something’s wrong with my invention. My imagination is broken. I don’t get out much.