I write my last name in my books lately. Because a lot of them are repeated around the grad office and because I lend and forget books all the time (Cherise: I need Plainsong back if you remember!).
It reminds me of reading my mom's old books, left from before she was married. It freaked me out when I was little, finding and reading these books, thinking about Connie with a different last name--penciled in a slightly rounder hand than I recognized. Who was this person? This pre-mom mom? (The image I have of Connie in college--forgive me, if this is private info--is her curled beneath a blanket in a dorm room listening to "Bridge Over Troubled Water" turned all the way up again and again. She told me this story once when I was having a hard time adjusting. Or when we were listening to Simon and Garfunkel. And it stuck.)
(It's paper-writing season again. So you all have that too look forward to. :) )
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