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waiting to derail

driving to the gold rush town this morning, rain, fog and ghostly trees against a sheet metal gray sky. Listening to Whiskeytown's "Stranger's Almanac" over and over and over again.

Realizing perhaps, with a sharp pang of nostalgia, that listening (and listening and listening) to one of the most seminal albums from the most seminal time in your entire existence is maybe not the best thing to do in a moment in which your entire life feels so, well, not seminal.

6:19 pm - 29.03.08

sounds:
words:
i am:

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previously on ... - next time on ...

faraway, so close - 19.04.08 - 11:35 am

a shaky sorta mellow - 17.04.08 - 2:04 pm

the apple doesn't fall far from the tree (and i want to eat it) - 16.04.08 - 4:19 pm

everyone says they know you - 15.04.08 - 12:53 pm

in which i grade myself on a generous curve - 14.04.08 - 5:37 pm

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