09 novembre 2005


I have sweet fuck-all to say, my darlings. And what I do have to say (because fuck-all is a slight exaggeration, I bet you would never have expected me to exaggerate, right? I hate to be predictable, I told you that, didn't I?), I can't actually express properly. It seems I can't handle work and blog anymore. Oh how things change.
Plus when I try to write, I throw in an innumerable number (does that make sense at all? See? See what's happening to me? I'm changing.) of I's. This won't do at all.
What's the weather like where you are?

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