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If I was any form of properly conscious state I'd write a long and lyrical description of the past, I dunno... ten hours or so. But I'm not. I'm tired, and I've got a bit of a headache because I haven't been able to find food since like, noon. I'm sure tomorrow morning when I get up and have very little else to do I'll be happy to write a long, but slightly less-detailed, outline of my day. I survived. It was good. I now own a copy of American Gods. Signed. Squee!
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