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Life is more or less the same as ever. I stocked up on pumpkin spice liqueur from the local cellar because it's seasonal and I'm addicted to it. If that's all I can think of to say, uh oh. I like to read free things, I don't eat much, I don't care where I sleep at night. Which means I oughta be able to live life just about anywhere. So I got that going for me. I started a journal a few months ago, and I'm realizing something about myself: I don't like to write in journals. I can write three thousand words a day on hubski/elsewhere, but I need the subject to be presented. I need prompting. My (few) journal entries are therefore bizarre. I think this is also why I have trouble writing long fiction.