The haziness of unplanned weekends in the rearview mirror. The slightly saccharine, queasy feeling of self-abuse. Unrecognized phone calls from a year ago, scattershot down unfilled hallways at an unknown time in the evening. Losing entire paragraphs in the middle of my life. I'm Leonard Shelby, frantically searching for a scribbling instrument. Not so I can capture the passing thought, but so I can expend enough energy to make myself forget it. Repeat until senile.
4:11 p.m. - 2021-02-18
Recent entries:
Quit Breathing - 2021-03-03
A Slow Mend - 2021-03-03
A Misleading Name - 2021-02-25
Pristine Pockets - 2021-02-25
Jest and Beckonings - 2021-02-18
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