Scorpio 24° (Nov 16)
On November 16, I awake in Boston and my diary reads:
Sonsie. Apple store. Pouring rain. TV show with host Hennessey. Waypoint. Bridget Barkan. Home James.
The never too late. You can go back again idea. It’s ever a backdrop. The notion of writing a book of this sort might be inspirational to actors. Being very good but not really ever doing anything out of class except those tiny bits on Broadway. I do entertain the thought. Looking through my notebook where this lives I find a crazed three-quarters of a page of me talking to myself about the patterning of how to fix the repeat-problem in the horoscope books. I’m really not that natural and mathematical things. Although I am perfectly contented this February in my life, I can’t say why. I sure it has something to do with it being day ten sans alcool. Anyway, the bit of the notebook was labelled Rabitt Hole in green ink.
I’m excited about the design company being based in Provincetown. I can picture the whole thing now. I have my reason to enlist realtors.
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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