2004-03-02, 6:42 p.m.,

My bus driver today knew only two speeds, psychotic pedal to the floor fast and slam on the breaks and make everyone grab for something, anything to keep from hitting the windshield stop.

I've been so caught up working on my book on the bus and in the evenings. I keep rewriting, keep changing names, dates, shoe sizes, eye colour, but my written world will never achieve fiction status and this, my friends, is devestating.

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- - 2007-06-08
My absenteeism - 2007-05-24
Defining Yourself - 2007-03-19
odd sort of flatness - 2007-03-06
Welcome Home - 2007-02-27


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