A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the all singing all danceing crap of the world Age creeping up on me. I hate it. Infrequent business contact, i can't remember which office he works for, tells me that there's an All-Class reunion of the school we have in common. i can't say the thought doesn't intrigue me, but at the same time, i have a hard enough time dealing with my own internalized sense of failure that i don't need to walk into a place where i'll additionally start sizing up how many of my classsmates and schoolmates in gerneral turned their whole catholic-school experience into more profitable lives all of my adventures are retrospect now, and memory is little else but cold comfort when the present time is marked by long barren expanses of empty time 10:02 a.m. - 2003-03-14 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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