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March 12, 2003
Winter Blahs: Clouds, snow, rain. Ice on the ground, mountains of once white snow now caked with all the pollution that circles the air we breathe. I wonder if that's what my lungs look like. The river behind me at work is frozen. Use to go out there and sit, smoke a cigarette, watch the surface breathe, inhaling and exhaling, fantasizing about the beach. No oceans here no beaches. I miss the beach. My skin has lost that caramel shine. I feel like a pale ghost drifting. I want to wear a short skirt, open-toed sandals, and a slinky tank-top again. Frown.