Here I am, in Ottawa, sitting on the footsteps in front of my house. At this very moment, I am waiting for Noémi to show up so we can spend an awesome night of not sleeping and being crazy all night long. Why have I decided to wait outside with my laptop at the front door? Who knows! I guess that's just how my mind works and I've never bothered to
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I've also found that I don't know what I want to be doing, and yet you have? Perhaps the two variables relate somehow?
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It's a compelling question.
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But in all seriousness, the idea of going home provokes a change in thought for all of us, whether it's humongous or barely even recognizable. It doesn't really matter though, cause you know who you are anywhere. And I know that you're a girl who should be getting the journal really soon, and get on Soleil's ass because I only had 2 freaking days with that thing before I sent it off so I could get it back to you guys. Miss you!
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Uh-oh. Perhaps you should be told about her second life in Toronto as a lion-tamer trapeze artist who juggles flaming, singing flamgingos.
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