I bought myself a proper craft knife today because I have never been properly equipped to slice my pages and thus can never finish any letter perfectly. I haven't tea stained a page in years. Once, I tea stained a whole diary and burned the lips of the pages and flicked away the ash to make it look old and worn, but it was my handwriting that gave it away. You don't understand, really, I've left that knife sitting around already too many times and come too close to slicing my skin. I laughed when I bought it about the audacity I've developed lately when it comes to sharp objects. I'm clumsy. I trip. I fall. I graze my knees. Often, I bleed. I moved cardboard across my skin just then, and my wrist bled. I can't help being a danger to myself. I am very much consumed with the idea that everything I ever own from now on will not be new. It will be new to me, but everything should be old because that's the way time intended things to be. I want to learn to sew because every good woman should. I'm going to learn to do the things a good mother should know because I need to begin to look after myself and I'm never going to have children because I'm selfish and unselfish at the same time. I like to sleep late and I like to absent mindedly leave sharp objects lying amongst the folds of my blankets.