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August 21, 2008
Writing this is becoming a task, a chore no more exciting than doing the dishes. And it is good that it should be so.

Perhaps by the end of the month I will be over the desire to talk to you. That would, I guess, be a step forward, though it feels more like a loss.

Until August turns to September, I will persist in writing here. I'm stubborn that way.

But then, you already know that about me.

You know so many things about me, yet in the end you acted like someone who didnít know me at all.