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2004-12-22 - 7:33 p.m.

Tried to write yesterday, but the computer ate my homework. Ha. Maybe it's a sign. Nothing much worth mentioning anyway.

Spent today haunted by the ghosts of my dreams. I hate that I can be so affected by things that never happened, but on the moon hand, I wouldn't trade it. Can't imagine not having it. Need it. I think I've done more living in dreams than I've ever had opportunity to in life, anyway.

Last night was friends and lovers. Somehow that's always the worst. To have that love feeling and then wake up only myself and alone. Writing always stirs this up in me like sand from the lake; delving and trying to recapture a feeling, a moment, an echo of what I'm trying to express. A writer is sometimes only a medium, a channel. I funnel it through me and somewhere it snags.

Been having good story. Books are like strawberries... So many of them are sour or rotten, but when it's good, it's sooo good you don't mind. "It tastes so good when it hits your lips." It's such a braingasm to stumble across something new and perfect. It makes me green with envy, and it makes me want to write, and it makes me want to spin it out like a particularly delicious dessert. Mmmm.

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