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1:30 am - June 29, 2004
Looking for a Phoenix-feather-cloak
Whee. I shed the perpetual (I know that's spelled wrong but it just won't go right) chicken suit. Jen, you might be proud. Okay, you'd at least be proud that I returned the books.

And I know he's not going to call.

Hah, I know it'll bleed me like an Adkins-practicing vampire at first, but at least...

Hmm. At least I won't have someone genuinely interesting to talk to? Or to recommend books to and from? And I'll have to rely on people who are hundreds of miles away for a nice, normally bent sense of humor?

Schizeh, that is depressing. I hate when I'm trying to be plucky and reality kicks me in the shins.

(Wondering why I have the sudden urge to bleat like a sheep or certain romance-novel heroines...)

Fcuck. And on top of all this other stuff. Waah bloody waah.

I'll write more when I'm less invested in chicken-suit-wearing. Clearly not myself lately.

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