Room 406, 2nd period

Within, there was a Xander. Who was sort of awake. In that 'sitting at the desk, staring at your Art History book and not really seeing anything, even the Naked Venus On the Half-Shell centerfold in the Early Renaissance section you just flipped through yet again' way.

There could be coffee, but that would require movement.

Letters, sent and un.

Unsent:

Dear Mom and Dad: today I got my missing clothes back and pictured Jake Gavin in a cheerleading outfit, wore John Crichton and got detention for sharing him with Ms. Skeeter, totally had a catfight with Rory Gilmore over a hot Mountie except not because that would be weird and make Dad nod knowingly and say he always knew it which would be one of the 4,000 reasons I'm never actually mailing this letter, took a mid-term in Art History and haven't written a word of it yet, ZOMG, did not tell Angela Chase a fart joke but did almost tell the one about Really Strong Guy Who Can Fly mistaking Unseeable Guy for Bitterwoman, did inform Jaye Tyler that she's abnormal to her everlasting shock, and was informed by Parker who has no first name because I enjoy existing, that I'm an asshat. No, sorry, a bottom. No, sorry, the Bottom. I might be needing to murderize Jake Gavin, cheerleading uniform or not; if so, don't worry. I won't call you for bail money.

Yeah, my life's not complicated.

Hey, if you happen to see a giant snake around town? You're not imagining it; drive the other way.

~Xander

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Sent:

Dear Willow: Hey. Remember that shared nightmare about ever having to go on a stage again? Guess what...