5:55 p.m. - August 27, 2002
On packages
Let's see if Diaryland eats up this entry as well.
Final package mailed from Washington, D.C. arrived and it was like Christmas in August, unwrapping packages and remembering what I had forgotten. I didn't realize just how many books I liberated until they had become a pile next to the shipping box, a twinge of guilt, but it passed quickly.
Having a blue day, made bluer when an entry reminiscent of both skill and joy in journal writing disappeared into the cyberblackhole.
I'm watching the ball game and catching whiffs of smoke from the grassfires on the hills. Arson is suspected, again. The smoke is acrid and brown, like smog.
I feel the same way.
