Saturday, August 18, 2007

3rd December. Saturday. 2005.

I think that is the meaning of life, to sit around and think about things, until you think you know it all and then you finally realise you are about to die.

Is it wrong to enjoy reading what you'd previously written? Strange. It doesn't seem like reading my thoughts, yet that's what it is.

Jeez that sounds pretentious. As you were! Hope the sick-germ bombs are spreading to everyone so I'm not alone in my misery :) Maybe I'll go cough outside for a bit.

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