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Wednesday, Sept. 15, 2010 - 18:03

I've recently gotten back into a writing kick - I might have already told you, I mean, I might have already tried to brag about it. Which is dumb, because all I've done, other than thinking about it, is write one thing. And that thing doesn't really count, because the base of it was written almost two years ago. Anyway. The other day I was walking around and thought about getting myself a notebook to carry around with me everywhere, something a little more creative than my journal. I have tons of barely started notebooks that I could use, but I like buying new ones. But then I thought about it and I realized that it would be incredibly lame and immature to have a notebook full of self-centered emo shit - that's something for young 20-somethings to do, and at this point it would only be embarrassing for me. So maybe, you say, you should write something more intelligent than self-centered emo shit. Yes, you are right, but I don't think I could do that. Today on the internet I read something about someone - again, my lack of recall hinders my ability to tell a tale - some woman author whose diaries were quoted, and she's got all this stuff about, like, philosophy and the role of women etc. etc. etc. I write about boys with brown eyes and dreams I've had. I write about how sick I am or how tired I am. If my diary were to be published, people would rightly call me a boring whiner.

Also, anyway, I'm reading (or trying to read) Gertrude Stein again, and she thought and wrote many times in this book that she was the most important living writer - and maybe that's true, I can't tell through all her goddamn words - but dang did she need an editor.

Oh well. I'm fat.

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