Somebody disclosed to me the most perfect secret. Though it is not specifically clever, or distinguisably modern, I find it greatly momentous. It can be very difficult to pinpoint where you really went wrong, and for that matter went right. Especially when your life has been nothing but a series of forked paths paved with the meddlesome case of a paranoid sense of social deficiency. I have been given the opportunity to sprint in a backward direction, where my body will be young again, and my idealism may be restored, and my feet may find the better rock to stand upon. It will be a frightning experience for certain, since the digression will force the re-experience in many of the ills that have taken their course upon my product. I will revisit every moment, every alcoholic moment, sober moment, embarrassed, meager, diligent, obnoxious, terribly delightful moment. Until, all that is left is the 18 year old idiot i so fondly remember. Stupid, as I was, immature as I was, yes sir, lame as i was, it was nothing but a white page, the white page i've been so desperately seeking. I'm tempted to explain further, but it is the secret kept only by MaryMary. I cannot be expected to abandon Subrosa. For my pages are still cluttered and existant, and I fear the invisible few.
I am in more than one way--a time traveler.
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