I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

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I worry that all the strangeness has been tapped. All the wonderful has fled and all the insanity has seeped away into places I can no longer find. It’s all distant in the mind though, a make believe wonder I see too often when only alone.

Don’t you ever worry that you or the world is running out of weird. We got plenty to spare.