cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't know anyone who cares at all about anything that I do. What do I have to say about what I lost? If my timing had been better, blah, blah, blah. It was the distance that killed it. I go down a hole on my own now and I have a hard time getting out of it or communicating with anyone once I'm down there. I'm trying to re-write the first chapter of my book. Bear in mind that everything I write here is when I am drunk and feeling desperate. I have to re-focus the first chapter on opening with Stevens and Hamilt0n, in the T0ntine coffee House, where Stevens vents about the fowls being eaten by the tur7les. I need to open with action. Start the book right there, with Stevens sitting in the T0ntine bitching to H@milton about the turtles eating the fowls. But I can't find a description of what the T0ntin3 coffee house looked lie on the inside in 1795. I want to vent all of this to Christa and talk to her about it. But she never gave a shit about any of this. I miss her so much, but what I do never mattered to her and she never wanted to talk to me about it. I don't know anyone who cares at all about anything that I do. 5:04 a.m. - 2021-06-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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