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01/03/2005: "Music Box"
It doesn't seem like I can think of anything to say today. I floated a few ideas to myself as I went about my errands today: I could have spoken about Jeremy and Beth's wedding, and how strange it is to feel an attachment to these ghosts, and the rest of you ghosts, but the metaphor seems a little strained, so forget it. The cats? Have I said anything about them? I sure hope their people are back, because i didn't go over to feed them today. I went to the bookstore and a friend's sister is working there, but I have nothing much to say about him, or her. She says he wants to move to Colorado. The weather, who wants to read about the weather? Warm for January. Mud instead of snow. I have a note: "Music Box as metaphor". What does that mean? I'm tired of metaphors. Do you want to hear what books I have on my PDA? Didn't think so. The Communist Manifesto. Pilgrim's Progress. Vanity Fair. Average Jones. Classics all. Okay, ghosts: I've been contributing to Holidailies for theree weeks or so now, and I was playing an energetic tune at first, maybe a little frantic; then I got to the point where I was cranking it out at an even tempo and it sounded reasonably nice. Now, I guess, I've slowed down to the point where every note is an effort, and chances are I'll run out of potential energy and stop in mid-
