You are all so gracious and kind to me, writing to assure me that 25 is a fabulous age. But please, I can no longer bear to read of your beloved remembrances. Please understand. I never meant to imply that 25 years-old itself is a terrible
age, and that you might persuade me otherwise. I am wont for no persuasion.
25 can -- and well should -- be a free and joy-filled year for most. It is simply a terrible age for me. The years hang on my body, draping me as, perhaps, 65 years will you. I have lived a very long time in a hapless, lightless life; I am tired.

Don't think me an ungrateful, wallowing and depressive child. I cherish the words of my readership as they were my own. My heart is full and aches knowing that so many of you are thinking of me. I want only to clarify, qualify, justify, explain myself. Further, I don't wish you to think me rude when I fail to reply directly.

Same tone, different subject entirely: As much as I'd like to comment on a certain situation involving the owner and applicants of a burgeoning journalism web ring,
I cannot. I am far too ignorant and stupid to voice opinion on this topic. Know that I care enough about all of my fellow diarists to pay attention, yet keep my mouth shut at the same time. It is all I have to offer: My silent empathy.

I am awake today more fully than I have been in weeks. The manic dream-state brought about by enduring The School Kids reunions and tax form preparation is all but dissolved into a vague haze. It clouds the short-term memouries of my actions in the last few weeks, lending them a dissociated, disjointed feel. I am glad to have put the first half of April behind me. I am glad to have located my transient rightbrain that I might be productive again.

Before I haul myself back to work, I must thank two people: Elly for her open and sincere praise of me in her own journal; and Sage of Cardigan for presenting me with his Captivating Journal-ism Award. These are two of the kindest, warmest people I've encountered in all my years on-line. Please, treat yourself to visiting their respective sites.

Perhaps a story next time, loves.