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The past two days I’ve felt afraid to sleep. I don’t know why. I feel uncomfortably compelled to stay awake. I don’t know if maybe it’s just my circadian rhythm, wrong, because I’m working nights. It’s a bad feeling, anyway.
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It’s incomprehensible to me seeing people who have had abusive parents come around to an amicable relationship with them. My parents are both unforgivable. It’s just how it is. The problem is I don’t have anyone else. I don’t know my dad’s family. My favorite uncle from there passed when I was a kid. I wasn’t allowed to see his body. I don’t even know if there was a funeral. Everyone I know has a family, and everyone I know has a relationship with their parents. I want to kill myself when I think about this, and I don’t want to be told to talk to a therapist. I want a family. It’s not fair.
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This is something important to document. In ten years, I’ll understand.
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Go back racks, sale section, folding tank tops in a group. I wanted to work the cash register. The cash register was the pinnacle of my life.
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Wax was thick in the air when I let the candle burn for 10 hours last night, but my apartment was so clean the lung damage seemed negligible.
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Sick of victory and enfeebled by the absence of challenge…
A Separate Peace, John Knowles
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Angels in the shape of bees
are watching over you and your blankets
of yellow roses and clover.
The roses are always wrinkled.
When do they make your sheets?
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Click on it twice. These are your two super powers.
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Yellow,
if you were a little Old Man would you eat oatmeal or cream of wheat?
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I’m struggling so bad to clean my room. It’s like an impossible task. I don’t know what’s keeping me. I look at it all, and I’m not able to move it. I’ll try again tomorrow.
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