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August 16 2010
Enough obsessing for one day in my sad sad life that I waste so foolishly.
It is 4:26 am. I have stuff to do 'early' 'tomorrow' morning -_-
I bed.
Tomorrow I will tell you about our imaginary date.
This is ever so psychotic. And if he ever sees this, he oughtta know this isn't psycho, it's art, it's fiction, it's a story. A story told in pictures.
And I don't like him just because he's good-looking or dresses nicely. I dislike him because he's famous so that certainly isn't it. There's a hundred other nice-looking, well-dressed people out there.
He has an attitude of productivity and usefulness that I find captivating.
Excellent for caveman style performance of hunting ritual for winter storage.
No seriously, he's 'cute'.
That word says a lot more than cuddles.
Nighty night, no one.
Because nobody reads this for sure. My villainous wife won't ever actually read the things I write. She'll roll her eyes and hop off.
And for the record, I'M A GIRL.
I have a wife because...well I can't remember why we ever got 'married'. That evil woman.
So this is a sort of mini-diary.
