First things first. What’s your name?
- Jennifer.

Jennifer…?
- Does it matter?

Fair enough. How old are you?
- 24.

How would a friend describe your physical appearance?
- Hmm. Most of my friends would say that I’m attractive. I’m a brunette, but I’ve always wanted to be a blonde. I’m not exactly petite, but I am a bit on the tiny side. Not slender, but by no means chunky. Everyone thinks I have a great smile. My cheekbones are my best feature: pronounced, but symmetrical. My lips are thin. My eyebrows are thin, but not ridiculously so; I hate those girls that tweeze until you need a magnifying glass to see their eyebrows. Those things are there for a reason, right?


What about your eyes?
- They’re green. Kind of a muddy green, I think. My dad used to tell me that they were made from the water of a cavernous leprechaun colony. My dad’s weird.


What is it that you life for?
- Books, mostly.


What are your favorite books?
- It’s hard to say. Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina, I think. They were both so stoic, so steadfast in being who they were supposed to be, then life came along and completely derailed everything. But that allowed them to finally be who they really were, you know? I mean, it ended tragically, but at least they got to _be_, even if only for a short time.


Tell me something no one knows about you.
- I hate my legs. I wear pants all the time, and people used to question it. It got so frustrating making up reasons why I always wore pants. I lost track of how many times I covered with some stupid little lie. After awhile, I stopped caring. So I wear pants… right? Who cares? But, seriously, I really don’t like my legs.


Why?
- I don’t know. I can’t really explain it. I see other girls wearing shorts and skirts, and they must think I’m a lesbian or something, because I always stare at their legs. I just wish mine looked so perfect. Everyone else seems to have perfect legs.


What’s your most embarassing moment?
- Most people would give some sort of public embarassment, right? My most embarassing moment is… well, a whole series of moments, but always when I’m alone. I feel ashamed most when I just sit and think about the person I am, the person nobody sees. Or I think about some situation that I’d been in, and a stupid thing I said or did, and I go home and think “What the fuck is wrong with me?”. It doesn’t even happen, like, soon afterward. Sometimes it’s years later, and just thinking about something, I get embarassed to the point that my face turns red and I can’t face anyone. It’s weird. The human mind is weird, I know, but mine… I don’t know. Do other people do that, I wonder?


Tell me about the note.
- Jesus. Where do I start?

---

… I just discovered this in my archives. I don’t recall writing it, or where I was going with it, or whether it was to be part of a larger piece.


So much unfinished. It’s time to finish these things.