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[personal profile] desperance
Today there's a girl at my table. Who writes in longhand on green paper, and uses coloured pens, and folds the sheets strangely, and... I have no idea what she's doing. Only that she's in my place.

Not that it matters. I can only spend another hour here anyway. Another page or so of story, and then I must hie home and do much copy-edit. Much. I think I did three pages yesterday, and I have three hundred-odd to get through by tomorrow.

I would of course have done more yesterday, but that social obligations intervened. People knocked on my door, and demanded entrance. Luckily, they were people that I knew: a boy I've known since he was a blob, indeed, and later on his mother. He took books away. Not enough - I offered him thousands, and he took eleven - but hey. We call this progress.

Tonight I have the pub on my agenda, and dinner with friends, and like that. I do like that. So I'd best get some work done now.
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desperance

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