wednesday, march 8, 1944

margot and i have been writing each other notes, just for fun, of course.

anne: it's strange, but i can only remember the day after what has happened the night before. for example, i suddenly remembered that mr. dussel was snoring loudly last night. (it's now quarter to three on wednesday af- ternoon and mr. dussel is snoring again, which is why it flashed through my mind, of course.) when i had to use the potty, i deliberately made more noise to get the snoring to stop.

margot: which is better, the snoring or the gasping for air?

anne: the snoring's better, because it stops when i make noise, without waking the person in question.

what i didn't write to margot, but what i'll confess to you, dear kitty, is that i've been dreaming of peter a great deal. the night before last i dreamed i was skating right here in our living room with that little boy from the apollo ice-skating rink; he was with his sister, the girl with the spindly legs who always wore the same blue dress. i introduced myself, overdoing it a bit, and asked him his name. it was peter. in my dream i wondered just how many peters i actually knew!

then i dreamed we were standing in peter's room, facing each other beside the stairs. i said something to him; he gave me a kiss, but replied that he didn't love me all that much and that i shouldn't flirt. in a desperate and pleading voice i said, "i'm not flirting, peter!"

when i woke up, i was glad peter hasn't said it after all.

last night i dreamed we were kissing each other, but

peter's cheeks were very disappointing: they weren't as soft as they looked. they were more like father's cheeks -- the cheeks of a man who already shaves.