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Wednesday

September 6, 2000

"As long as I can hold a pen, I shall, I suppose, go on trickling ink into this diary."

W.N.P. Barbellion, Journal of a Disappointed Man

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

further down into the vortex

Work seems at once suddenly clearly defined and impossible and complicated. That's all I can say.

Other than work and scribbling here, I have a part of a salad while working, phone calls to reassure my mother I'll get her a TV for the office, take her shopping, help her with e-mail. Just not today or tomorrow. Must drive to Houston tomorrow. And I watch FFP use his new film editing program. And he gives me my magic hand and foot massage. And he makes me chicken and salad for dinner and I clean up after that.

My war with the mess in here is hardly being won. The mess is surely winning but I am constantly rearranging it just to teach it a lesson.

 

 

 

 


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