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Ghosts of memory lost

Over the last twenty-four hours, I've managed to get myself wound up about some old ghosts that I just can't find a resting place for. Wish I were being more figurative. Last night I discovered computer files dating back some twelve years, containing writings and journals that often centered on some of the more confusing parts of my history.

Thoughts and feelings along those lines have lingered with me throughout the day. Mostly I'm fine, but there are a few telltale signs of my preoccupation (such as making my bed a scant hour or two before retiring there for the evening).

Not sure which I want worse: to be understood or to understand myself. Both are slippery prospects; gave myself a headache and knotted stomach in the attempt today. Again, I'm mostly fine— I just hate facing my limits and my losses, and it's no better when I can't assess exactly what those are.

Don't feel myself slowing down yet, so this may be a long night. Not terrible, just a little haunted. Perhaps the tea will help.

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