October 29, 2003
This afternoon when the dogwalker arrived, I was in bed, trying to nap. Of course the nap also served as a way out of having to go out front and engage in conversation. When he brought the dog back 20 minutes later, I was still in bed, buried like ice cream under mounds of whipped cream. (Except warmer.) He called my name. I cringed under the covers, made sure I was completely hidden in case he decided to have the gall to come back here, and held my breath. "Who the fuck am I? Anne Frank?" I whispered to myself.