baggage's Diaryland Diary

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In the pages of scripts

2005, thus far, has been interesting.
Let's see-just where is my Very Special Mystery Poetic Nutgraf?
Oh yes-here the heck it be:
There are seven spains, you see.
And the final one has bewitched me into fantasy.

Dig that, beotch.

The CD is well underway-although I find it hard to even listen to the damn songs anymore. I slithered into an open-mic night last night and realized, painfully and amusingly so, that I missed performing.
And left without doing so.
With much aplomb, apparently.

The general circle is doing well. Although the answer to my Mystery Poetic Nutgraft would certainly be the The Change Of The Way Things Are.
I fear that I must soon do away with certain parts of my chemistry-and find other outlets for said frustration. But, how, HOW does one do away with any part of their chemistry?
It's easier said than typed I tell ya that much.

Work is, well...work.
It's amazing how neatly I fit into the stereotype-the pattern, if you will, of "what all good people do."
I feel, now more than ever, to be a small, barely-infinitesimal cog in some Plan.
But, what Plan?
Does anybody know??
Anyone ?
Does anybody know the Plan?
Aww-shit.
I bet ya NOBODY knows the Plan.

But, this weekend's plan (I know this much) involve's Girl Unit; it's her birthday. She aims to go hiking in the morning and go "theatering" in the eve.
Seems like our normal Saturday-which can be seen as charming beyond belief or rather uncreative on the part of her significant other.
I wish I had some grand extravaganza planned to herald the moment-but, I confess, recent activity at the workplace has left me somewhat, errr...tired.
Y muy confuso tambi�n.
Luckily, my "deserves so much more" half sees no such nonesense and merely asks for a birthday of hiking, stage plays and dinner.
It's times like these that leave me wondering where she keeps her wings.

With any luck, 2005 will be a good year.

9:34 p.m. - 2005-02-03

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