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I just read la-the-sage's savage but just diatribe against redneck neighbor sagas, and now I've got the creepy crawlies thinking there's not enough separating me from them.
Sometimes I talk too much. I bore people. Some would say I keep my photo albums unnaturally handy. I've tried hard to correct the impulse to pull out the albums, or brag about my children, or say, "Let me show you what I just bought!" I'm trying to remake myself in the image of somebody I would like to spend time with. But mostly, the exercise makes me too self-conscious. Then I convince myself that it would be easier not to spend time with anybody at all.
I could sit and look at my photo albums all night.
Trying to put together a modest birthday party for Duff tomorrow. He isn't home yet; he left a message saying he needs me to pick him up at the ferry building at 9:45. Not the first time I wish he'd come home on time, to help me out, and it won't be the last. He's been staying late often because they've got a new game networked in the lab and he likes to play it. I've learned not to hope that he will get tired of the game, because there is always a new game. There is always a new game.