My computer, its hard drive is completely dead. My shit is most likely gone. Four years' worth of art, writing, photos, music, random bullshit. At least I have the first year backed up, but still. Shit
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Saw Borat on Friday, it was all right. It's going to be the next Napoleon Dynamite, because people are already quoting the shit out of it. It's already kind of annoying
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Rereading Epictetus and realizing how far away I've strayed. The Art of Living is the only book I've found that I could truly describe as precious to me. It's essentially a self-help manual, certainly, but not in a self-indulgent sort of way. If you conduct your life with dignity and manage what you can actually control (instead of what you
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