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2005-01-17 · 9:39 p.m.

After approximately three months of trying to work with alternate forms of getting my useless thoughts down in some semblance of order (all electronic of course; I don't trust paper and I've forgotten how to write with a pencil), I've come crying home to Diaryland. Actually, let me tell you, at first I was literally terrified because i stumbled back here to read over my life's story and nothing showed up at all. Can you believe it? I was totally convinced my adolescence had disappeared into the abyss. And I think this was also on the Day Livejournal Died, which didn't make matters any better (oh no, now I'm admitting I slept around with LJ... oh well, I never said I was a one blog man). My favorite thing to do on livejournal is search for good interests and then get really involved in the lives of people I don't know. It's even better when I think they might be serial killers or if they think they look like Paris Hilton. Speaking of, I heard Paris was on "The O.C." yesterday (I think?), talking about Thomas Pynchon and magic realism. I can't let her one-up me like this. I got halfway through "V" and then sort of put it down on the floor of my dormroom and a snowdrift covered it and the pages froze together and then when it thawed out a baby bunny ate the last 65 pages and then a family of swallows made the rest into their nest. So now I think I'll have to go back and finish it so I can take back my Most-Likely-To-Succeed trophy (and Best Dressed Socialite placque too, natch) from Ms Hilton. Whose grandfather by the way was not man enough for Liz Taylor. Hah!

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