So much for explaining everything that's happened.
But I'm alive. Oh yes, I am alive. So alive, in fact, that I am quite able to trip up the stairs, bang my elbow on the rail and my shin on the step, and sit in shame while I listen to my dad laughing (he heard a crash from the other room). But alive.
So the "alive" tangent seems a bit more morbid
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You are not an idiot. Masochist, maybe, or maybe you're just addicted to this particular brand of heartache. But you are most certainly not an idiot -- you know exactly what you're doing, if not why. Idiots don't know anything, nor do they care.
Have fun for the next two weeks with coffeeshop and poet goodness!
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