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January 10, 2003
Procrastination becomes benign neglect grows to malignant inexcusable neglect. The white envelope wags a pointy finger of shame. I won’t put it away, needing this hairshirt reminder of my uncharacteristically irresponsible behaviour, which may bear relation to that deliberate 67 in ninth -grade English, just to see what not-so-perfect felt like. Didn’t feel good then, doesn’t feel good now. Composing an apology, I feel more guilt for not doing it in person and hope it’s not too late for restitution and redemption. I know D would forgive me, with her ethereal Buddhist smile, but that is surely not the point.