My diary, my friend. The repository of my wandering thoughts and priceless drivel. Have you a soul?
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No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There's too much work to do! -- Dorothy Day
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2001-07-27, 11:59 a.m., *squeak*
When I get on here I forget that I'm not in good health. I am concentrated on the screen, and with what I want to accomplish that I forget my physical discomforts and deprivations, until they make themselves appallingly prominant. Such as a coughing fit which scatters over the screen and distort the visuals, or when my fingers start creaking with cold in their joints. But anyway, I just want to mention that I'm having fun with my newly acquired squeaky voice. It is squeaky, syllables of words are sometimes not vocalised so that only slices of the words are audible. It is a low-pitched squeaky, which sounds hilarious to my ears. It wavers on a whisper, and either becomes stronger or fainter. Sounds can come from my throat, as a guffaw or a yell of pain. I can go "Aaah" but not to a specified pitch. I can't sing. (Well, I can't anyway, but now I sound bad even to me.) In fact, I sound like I'm a little
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Well, *I* know you're talented, creative and charming, and that's without having met you, so just imagine what all those fortunate people you see on a daily basis must think... -- M.K.
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife,
To help me thro' this long disease, my life. -- Alexander Pope.
Abbandon, hope all ye who enter.
due to UCEs mail to sockii at diaryland.com will bounce.
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