A part of me is so fatigued that it's given up looking to feel refreshed. I no longer believe in rest. There is only work, or guiltily not working. It's the same part that equally expects to weep after good days and after bad: the good days, because they are over
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I find myself, as usual, waiting for emails. Most of them, I have no reason to expect are coming, but I wait for them nevertheless. Some certainly aren't, because I haven't replied yet
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