I don’t write here because I think that my life and thoughts are impor­tant, but some­times I won­der if I write here to make myself think that my life and thoughts are impor­tant. It is a small change. They are remov­ing the ceil­ing tiles and doing elec­tri­cal work in the office, the result is a sig­nif­i­cant amount of chem­i­cal­ly-treat­ed fiber­board dust and mild wheez­ing for me. I hate things that make me wheeze. Last night, for what­ev­er strange rea­son, my apart­ment smelled like wet cig­a­rette ash­es. Few things smell worse. I saw a woman walk­ing a bea­gle named Rosie and it tried to bite a man. My cousin is get­ting mar­ried in a month. I dreamed that I had a huge booger that I couldn’t pick. I ate pigs-in-a-blan­ket. I’ve been wear­ing the same pair of jeans for 5 days and they don’t smell yet. I need a hug. I need to buy new t-shirts, but they have to be the right kind and they are hard to find.

Only one thing that I wrote today strikes me as impor­tant. Can you guess what it is? That’s right, the booger dream.

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