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January 6, 2004

Nohtign Loosk Rihgt
I’m having a strange experience where every fourth or fifth word I type appears foreign or misspelled, as though my hands have learned Finnish but my eyes have not. I couldn’t make any sense at all out of the word with when I typed it into PhotoShop a moment ago. Neither have I been able to spell exhilarating or soliloquy (which, it turns out, doesn’t mean quite what I thought it did) without checking the damn dictionary. So now I’ll go off to wade through some emails, the great open-air market of the world where broken words are worth the same as like-new and prototype specimens.

Oh, Right: The Resolution
My resolution was going to be: Fear less. I still think it’s good (and could make me some money in the self-help, chicken-soup-your-soul-will-eat-in-heaven, page-a-day calendar business), but it’s not entirely accurate. Instead my goal is to reduce myself to a smaller person through, perhaps, a process of long division. I must become a small enough whole number to fit into a tuxedo, get married, and further mix metaphors in September. Let the good times roll.

Mmmm. Cinnamon rolls.

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