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August 30, 2010
When I wrote 100 words before - a year ago - my writing came from deep inside, pouring out - thoughts and feelings long hidden, springing out into the daylight of the written word. It was emotional. Important. At times tragic.

This time it's none of that. The word superficial comes to mind. I write easily but of nothing of importance. The moon, a house guest, a flea challenge - nothing of any importance at all.

I'm closing in on the month now and am wondering if there is any purpose in continuing beyond tomorrow's writing. I think not. but not a passionate not.