December 16th, 2003.
Returning from Damian’s house. It’s 2am, and there are emails in my inbox reminding me that I’ve neglected the Journal. I’ve been busy with the homecoming. A couple of years
December 8th, 2003.
Watching the map, it’s almost painful to see Maryland scrolling a mere inch below our chosen route. We’re edging in on the mountain roads of Pennsylvania, sitting tucked in between
December 7th, 2003.
Travelling at 70 down I-80 at 6. The moon’s nothing more than an amorphous stain, high in the sky, and the sun itself has vanished into a multi-coloured strip, fading
December 4th, 2003.
Such a good show at the Cricket on the Hill tonight. Exquisite sound, my guitar sounded like the half-bass hybrid beast it’s meant to sound like – met really wonderful
December 5th, 2003.
Somewhere on I-88 in Illinois. We just saw a really spectacular shooting star. It’s not even fully dark yet, and this thing went streaking across the sky like a flaming
December 3rd, 2003
I’ve finally figured it out – what real people do on Thanksgiving. Americans don’t sit around the table talking turkey and politics and what they’re thankful for (okay, MY family
December 1st, 2003.
The first day of December explodes upon us with a ferocity of molten dawn. Our room faces South East, and the sun gets up early and wants to know how