December 1, 1997

I kinda like the frosted look of the visited links, but I'm not sure if it's readable. I'm sure that Trip and company will let me know if it's not.

Tired today. Woke up with the same cold that I've been fighting for the whole last week, and it's not getting any better. Been testing and debugging and looking at stuff to make sure that it's getting better. Fighting entropy.

Had a friend of a friend write me today. It is always something of a wonder and a mystery when someone writes out of the blue to say, "Hi, I've been reading your journal..." and then comment in some positive way about it. It always serves to shock me, at least. Much as, at the party at our house, when Sally walked in, and said, "Oh, you're the *writer*." I don't think of myself as a writer, still, for all the other agonization. I really don't. So it was a pleasurable shock.

Especially since the comment comes from a writer who builds such gorgeous journal pages of his own. They're a feast for the eyes, which also means that my machine's a bit slow about getting them...

I'll admit that if I were able to get into the graphics and had the time and the patience and less guilt about bandwidth, I might want to create something as visually rich.

So life moves on. And cold or not, there's a game tonight. Which I'll likely be late for as John forgets the time and works well past when we need to get out of here. I should probably just ping him.

And it's such a Monday. Yeesh. After four days, one gets out of the habit of working.

And I feel the call, so much more, to work with words, and the dreams of the night before.

© 1997 by Liralen Li

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