Tuesday, April 30, 2002

Marc

My desk is slowly becoming my coffin. I can feel the fever and the congestion taking over my head, while my motivation keeps sliding away from me. Going, going ... gone. Just a few more papers to write, really, and a whole bunch of BS to spew before I can be done and start going through my old stuff. I'll be throwing out many things, including but not limited to old sheets, shoes, broken tools, disks, stereo shelves, etc. Time to purge the inventory of all the dead wait, wouldn't you say? It's the hardest part of the year. You'd think that this being my sixth move I'd be used to it, right? You'd be wrong. Terribly wrong. Unbearably wrong. But I won't tell you that. We'll keep it our secret. I'm not used to it. I'm never going to get used to it. I'll just become comfortable with the idea of getting comfortable and then leaving.

Okay. That's it. Sorry to get all "fluttery" and stuff. It's my job here, I guess.

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