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Made Galileo look like a Boy Scout

Sometimes I am so blind-stupid to myself I could scream.

I start working on a story. Then I get this bizarre desire to listen to music I haven't enjoyed since I was last living with my parents (13 years old), get really depressed, sick, and then feverishly cramming material, mostly from my dad's library (he was a Greek/Byzantine scholar in his spare time), into my skull to come up with a story that's basically about a weird injured girl trying to get her parents back (with some serious St. Teresa deary deary me, too, but that's only incidental). Two weeks later after recovering from the inevitable crippling carpel-tunnel the research brought on, I'm finished, and I realize it's the fourth year anniversary of my dad's death.

Tear down the wall, indeed.

Well, it was a very hard story to write, considering it's not a very good one. I'll give it some time before polishing, I think.

And if I never hear a Pink Floyd album again, I'll be happy.