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Okay no, before I go, have a last fucking update.
Out of my notebook, Jan 3rd, 2009:
Harry Starks had feared all I fear of. The degeneration of the mind, of what makes you better, of the Intellect, losing what you worked so hard for - and without the Intellect, without your sense of self, who are you? You're no one, and your life has no meaning. And a life without a meaning is not worth living. [I'm not gonna try and off myself of anything, it's metaphorically speaking].
Then you get depressed. I'm not manic-depressive, but Harry was. If I were Harry, I'd off myself. Straight out. And the saddest thing is, we had both feared the same prophecy, and it came true for the both of us. Only Harry fled to Spain, to Morocco, he had nothing left staying in England for. I have nowhere to run.
Also,
Thank you Kiera, and you, Brin, and Wally, and Edie.
But I'm still gone.
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