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A Sunday in which we did nothing, more nothing than usual. I kept drifting back to bed, without being quite aware of it. Warren would walk in and say, oh, here you are, and I would say, yes. Here. I'm not sure where else to be. I'm not sure what else to do with a day like this.
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This year I am taking the time to notice life, writing what I remember from my day, every day. The good, the bad, the indifferent. Because our lives may be ordinary, but our stories never are.
