Sunday, March 2

let's just say my pride has the flu

so I've wrapped it up in soft, faintly stale layers of self-loathing and self-pity. tomorrow I'll do the psychic laundry, put on my big-girl/pretty-spinster face, and get moving. tonight, I'll remain swaddled while I eat the last of the chocolate, drink big mugs of tea, and watch forgettable television.

welcome.

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