I did so much yelling and chuckling and attempting to prove that I can feel things other than raw-nerve spite at work today that I sound like wet sand in a blender when I talk.
Work. Work. I guess there’s not much else. Suppose I don’t hate the idea of working 7-10 hours a day, knowing that I do not have to go to another job when I leave, and that
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(Also I am turning 30 this summer, so that is a thing I consider to be an occasion for fun).
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