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December 16, 2002
I remember waking up to the sound of the rain pitter pattering against the windowsill. That was this morning, and it is the last thing I remember. Just before I woke, and while I remained in a lucid stupor, I felt a shadow looming over my ceiling. Perhaps it was only the clouds I felt, nothing more than that. Everything else that followed between my waking hours and now, those clouds accompanied. The summation of my waking hours is this: blah blah blah blah and Christmas music sucks. That is my lucid recollection of the blank expanse of today’s bore.