I've read about numerous people, geniuses all, who either because of insomnia or because of the heat with which their brains burnt, needed almost no sleep and worked and thought and wrote throughout the dark hours of the night, not to mention those of the soul. Why is it, then, that when I wake at 3 AM unable to sleep, the only thought I can muster and fully form is a curse of my damnable luck?
Saturday, July 25, 2009
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This is what you have abandoned facebook for? There's no Flair here. And how am I supposed to "poke" you?
We miss you on Facebook!
There's no flair here, but it's me.
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