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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Rainy Saturday Working

Was planning on writing, staring at the screen until my brain cells either screamed in death-throws or cranked out some wordage. But I ended up doing freelance work after checking email. While it was for only a little money (I'm a sucker for start-ups and females owned businesses, it's my weakness), it was probably for more than what I would make for the daily word count. Hopefully tomorrow (or later tonight) will see some word output.

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