April 13, 2000

Thursday April 13th, 2000

She said sadly: “I don’t hide my love for you. Or am I forbidden to talk about it? Are you by any chance ashamed of me?”
Bernard kept silent. Yes, he was ashamed of her. He was ashamed of her, even though she made him happy. But she made him happy only at those times when he forgot that he was ashamed of her.

Milan Kundera, Immortality, page 163.
I’m going to Wellington tomorrow for a holiday. I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I’ve made some choices. I think. I’m not entirely sure, and I guess I won’t know until I get there. But anything to get out of limbo.

Plus my parents have a bottle of vodka for me, I’ll get to see Karen’s new apartment, and I miss my cat.

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