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Margaret Mead
B. 12.16.01 Philadelphia / D. 11.15.78 New York

How is your beloved Hingis faring at Wimbledon this year? Fuck you.
Do you ever feel you should be doing more with your life? I don’t really have an entry for tonight, since I was up until 2 writing the entry before—you know when I post them after midnight I backdate them like I used to my personal checks when I paid bills—
Why do you persist in undermining your own reputation? —and then I wrote advertising proposals all day after which I spent until 10:30 working on my editorial assignment (eg. "In this glamorous age of multi-tasking, why not adopt a look from hunters in the Northern Philippines, and wear an elegant wooden hat you can turn upside down to use as a bowl when you snatch a lunchtime salad on the run? Or emulate the ruling classes of Sumatra, and appoint a piece of gold jewelry to take your place at the conference table when you’ve overbooked? Such simple solutions have been kicking around for centuries, scattered among the traditions of disparate peoples who all had one thing in common—they were very busy too") and also I was playing with an injury.
What good can come of this?

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