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2/4/07

12:02 PM Contemplate on desire, from the everyday mundane to the once-in-a-lifetime all-possessing. There’s thought involved, intense but not always intricate. Sometimes it’s a sweeping kind of thought that skips details and gains fervor from fuzzy expectations. Other times there’s so much detail that you get tired in trying to organize it to come up with a plan of action. That’s where procrastination comes in to the picture. The desire is still there, still strong, but fulfilling it requires undesired work – either in trying to clarify the fuzzy picture or executing the already too-clear game plan.

3:21 PM Your eccentricities first elevate you, differentiating you from everyone else. But then as life goes on and the personal eccentricities of everyone else slowly reveal themselves, you slowly come back down to their level, because to account for everyone’s eccentricities without categorizing them all as such is too great a task for any one mind.

Maybe in your world he’s queer and detestable, but I’ve seen enough like him in others’ lives to know he’s simply one of many. In fact it’s not even him. He’s just a placeholder in your life for that type of character, one of many in the portfolio of characters you come in contact with in everyday living.

5:31 PM Where’s the dividing line between what’s fiction and what isn’t? Most of what I write is in the 1st/2nd person, so I don’t have explicit characters. Yet I call my pieces fiction because they’re not reflective of any real events. I was reading back to some pieces and couldn’t decide whether to classify them as fiction or just “other”, like You.

5:34 PM You don’t ask any questions, so how do you learn someone? I’ve noticed this about you and I don’t understand it. Still you manage to end up where I am – perhaps even ahead of me, and maybe I’m the anomalous one. Possibly because it’s not my way of doing things, it baffles me.

I wonder how you don’t wonder about anything. At least anything that concerns me.

8:27 PM Before I ever saw the house I had a picture in my mind. It would be like this or that, I thought. Then I saw it, and it registered faintly in my mind. Only after two or three further visits did it get settled in my brain, so that now it’s no longer a house of its own but a house of memories.

Certain unpleasant memories make the house less pleasant for me than it was between the first and second visit, when all there was was possibility of fun excitement and adventure. I treaded lightly in the beginning, but much too quickly I went in with a heavy foot and left a dent that now burns my eye everytime I see it. I wish I hadn’t, but thankfully I have a mental record of past houses that have become strangely dear precisely because of the harmless bruises I left in them. The bruises in my mind are more hurtful to my conscience than the minor dents the house endured on my behalf.

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