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October 16, 2006,
9:24 p.m.
Post-Scriptum
For company at dinner tonight I picked up Cormac McCarthy's latest, The Road, and could not put it down until I finished. I am a crying mess over books yesterday and today, embarrassed by these silly emotions but feeling strangely pleased. And now I am horny, hungering to run my hands over somebody warm, look into eyes other than my own. I'm looking at my reflection in the sliding glass door and scoff: It.Ain't.Gonna.Be. So instead I'm reaching for the tired copy of Emily Dickinson and the remote. Welcome to my world. Flee quickly. There is little here.
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