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ENID: It’s so hard to tell with him. . . He’s such a taciturn fellow . . .
BECKY: Where did you get all these words?
ENID: Oh, it’s just because of studying for that stupid test my dad wants me to take.
BECKY: I thought you weren’t going to take that test.
ENID: Yeah, well . . . My dad already paid for it, and he’s really been pestering me and everything . . . it’s a total drag . . .
BECKY: You are such a f—ing liar.
ENID: I’m NOT lying, I just–
BECKY: You tell me every STUPID DETAIL of your life but you don’t even MENTION that you’re studying for this test.
ENID: That’s because you’re acting like such a CREEP about it . . . I’m only taking a stupid test.
BECKY: Maybe I’m just SICK of putting more into this friendship than I get out of it. . .
ENID: What the f. are you TALKING about?
BECKY: Like how come I’M always the one who has to call you? You NEVER call me.
ENID: You’re out of your mind! I called you TODAY! Practically everything you’ve ever done is because of me! I feel like I practically have to TELL YOU what to do.


from Ghost World, by Daniel Clowes Add a Tooltip Text


I had flare-ups like this with my best friend in high school. We meant the entire world to each other and we were both too young to be trusted with a waffle iron. So things could get messy.

Some of our most significant exchanges happened in ballpoint pen on lined yellow legal paper. I also had vital and heated conversations with my mother on sheets from the yellow pad. My mother’s notes could run to twelve or thirteen pages. She would fold them up and shove them under the bedroom door when I was sleeping. She left the thickest ones on the floor, just outside; they wouldn’t fit through the crack.

Yellow legal paper doesn’t keep well, not for the long term.