baggage's Diaryland Diary

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Goodnight

The longer I'm home, the longer I'm alone, the longer I'm serenaded by Chopin's Sonata for cello, the longer I'm in these sweats, the more human I feel.

The relief of Friday evening is a sweet drug. The rooms of my house, with its mismatched odds and ends, meowing cats and candlelit hallways, is the ultimate hideaway-a place of quiet solace from caccophony of the newsroom.

I'm making some pasta, loading up the little glass thingie, taking some Nyquil and going straight to bed.

After a few pages of fiction, I'm sure I'll be in dreamland; hopefully, far from bloodstained parking spaces and people uniformed in blue.

8:23 p.m. - 2001-04-20

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