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December 16, 2001
Something inside me refuses to let this weird crisis destroy my life any further than it has already. Maybe it's one or two of my spirits getting testy. In any case, after I give Argyle some tinned tuna I found in the pantry, which elicits a great deal of smug purring, I sit down at my computer and spend an hour or two writing up some results for my project. It's a task I've been avoiding for some time, and, ironically, it gives me an excuse not to phone Raff right away. I don't know what to say to him.