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November 6, 2010
I wish I could blot out the past five days. There is no poetry in those entries. They are full of nothing but bitter, angry words, and only half of them were written sober.

I am sorry, my unnamed but beloved audience. You deserve so much better. Can we forget they ever happened? Please, let us move on to a new and greater era.

Thus begins November the Sixth (or, in actuality, the eighth, but we're also pretending I haven't miss any days. Might as well cover all the bases, right?), the greatest month of my career.

Wish me luck.