I don't have to be at work till 6:00 tonight, which offers me the longest stretch of downtime I've had since the 4th of July and I am trying very hard not to read HBP, because I want to save it for my plane flight on Wednesday. I'm on page 198, because what was supposed to be "just a little taste" turned out to be not so much, but that still leaves
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I can't believe the willpower you're exerting NOT to be reading HBP omg! Go you! It's.....incredible. I finished it after about six hours of reading.
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Actually, I'm at the exact same page as you are, and didn't have a chance to read any last night. But lunch! In 10 minutes! I shall read then.
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I'm melting here in Cambridge in this utterly heavy weather. Have a safe trip, beware of the mosquitos, and have fun. :-)
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And, yeah, I jsut got off the phone with my mom who says it's miserable and humid but it might RAIN on Thursday, which would be refreshing. Any predictions you've heard?
I love your strawberries icon and I love YOU! Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to go to Boston and spend some time with friends during the whirlwind wedding week. I'll e-mail you if so, yes?
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I've heard that tomorrow it'll be less humid here, thank someone or other, and there's supposed to be a thunderstorm coming this afternoon. Wish it'd get here.
I love you too, and I love your Head of Nurse icon. I am strawberry girl - you know, you've seen my hair! Yes, e-mail me if you look to get to Boston. I may not be able to meet up with you due to fucking period (coming any time here - yuck), but if I can I will. I'd love to see you. :-)
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The Schrödinger Variant
Have Snake, Will Travel
Limping Toward Bethlehem
Please Hold Tightly
Two Is Swinging
As I Lay Me Down
Black (Ghosts)
Five Billion Years of Sunshine
Kansas -- on principle2. "It is not until December of that year that Helen's dear friend and erstwhile lover Stanhope Rothschild, teetering on the hostile border of seventy, shows up on her doorstep and hands over custody of what could be called, in more forgiving quarters, a manuscript. By then it is much too late for Helen, or anyone who might have known where to begin -- the late Sal Monroe, perhaps, or Reverend Thomas O'Shea, whom Helen will not meet until the funeral -- to act upon the information contained in the sheaf of loose handwritten pages, plastic-wrapped and stained, and reeking of cheap paper, the scattered mess a gauntlet thrown at Helen's method and orderliness; a challenge, Stan says, thumping her dining room table with the disordered collection, a quest, a test worthy of the most vicious head librarian Cambridge has ever ( ... )
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Gotcher e-mails. Proceeding apace. And THANK YOU.
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It is like unto a swamp here in Boston. They keep threatening thunderstorms and rain, but I can still grab chunks of air in my hands. But it has to break sometime, yes? Or so I keep telling myself (they keep telling me). Ugh, and back to work I go.
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and i have a big funeral on sunday. for which you will totally be neglecting your fake gf duties, too.
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