If you can't tell, I'm establishing a pattern. There's a part of every month where I'm wracked with nerves and an obsessive mess, and then another part of the month where I'm anticipating that first part. In the former, I have no desire to write even though it would probably help like a whole fuck-ton. In the latter, I write to pass the time.
I think we've just hit the latter.
Life is hard, yo.
As always, it's hip to be square (and predictable!), kids.
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