Monday, December 02, 2002

I'm waiting for the guy who really, truly isn't impressed at all by fame. Whose values just don't swing that way.

I'm waiting for the guy who doesn't think I'll be a "real" writer once I've written a novel.

I have been cleaning my apartment for a day or so, and it is getting pretty anal. At the moment, I am picking dust bunnies out of my hairbrush with tweezers. This is how it gets sometimes.

You can't save the world, but you can save your hairbrush.

OK bye.



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