My mother sent me a letter not too long ago. When I flipped over the envelope, I saw that she had sealed it with a tiny, round rose sticker. For some reason it made me want to sob. Just because of a tiny sticker. Just because of that fleeting, added after-thought. And now I’m dying for my sand-coloured house at the end of Long Path, even though the familiarity is slowly becoming unfamiliar. My little doggies are no longer there. My grandmother is no longer there. They’ve even repainted my room.

 

On a lighter note, I turned down an incredibly handsome, tall, dark, athletic (potential) hook-up tonight, in favour of not feeling like a bag of crap at work tomorrow. I can’t say I don’t regret it, because I do. I am so sick to death of the opposite sex that I feel careless, dejected, rejected, injected with rage… But wtf is this? I’ve just stepped into the deep end of the LAME pool, and I’m floundering quickly.

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