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November 1, 2007

Stacy: Autobiographical. Or Not.

Apparently a teacher of mine somewhere in the mists of grade school informed my parents that I would likely grow up to be a writer. As I survey the scattered chaos that is my life, I often wonder if that old bitch still lives. So I can kill her.

Then the Muse sets her spurs to my ass once again and I’m off, keyboard chattering like the Nazis are coming over the hill and I’m all that stands between Good and Evil. It’s a goddamned nightmare, I tell you, having all this STUFF inside me, welling out all over the…

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