February 20, 2017 Transcribed the full length of my diary: it's all I did this weekend. I'm glad to have it done. I think I started around nine last Friday night and finished at five in the morning on Sunday. Then I got up and tore my diary into a lot of little pieces and threw them all into the trash. That had two years or something of my writing in it. This is the canon: * may 15 2015 (18) * may 27 2015 (18) * june 9 2015 (18) * february 15 2017(20) i've written four good entries in two years, wow I heard ████'s ███ ███ ███ for the first time and at first I wrote it off as too "self-aware" but as soon as I hit the B-side I started feeling something familiar. I can't describe it to you very easily but it felt sad and bright, familiar but new, like when you look up in the middle of the road and realize that the cerulean sky and a retinue of white-full clouds have been waiting on your notice for a long time. Like you're walking so normally and suddenly everything drips away like watery paint on a canvas. Like until yesterday you'd been missing out on something really great. Like the first time I'd been to a Monet exhibition and all of a sudden I'm looking around like it was the first time I'd ever seen anything. Do you know that feeling?