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August 1, 2003
Jan 3rd, ‘86 from this old diary I found reads “... have to keep telling myself ‘I’m 11. I’m 11. I’m 11’ because I still feel 10. What if I live the rest of my life thinking I am 10?” Cute. Boy am I moody. Foot has hurt for weeks, preventing high heeled dancing. Impending business trip, deadlines, appointments, errands, bills, only to repeat. And I hate to admit it, but I sense that damned clock. It’s palpable. It’s probably late to change careers (again) and/or move to France. Right? So, at least this moment, I officially no longer feel 10.