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goddamn motherfucking earth

The spiders are busy with floorplans and architecture. I am busy listening to wind whistle through the holes in my life.

I talked with R. on the phone tonight. She was telling me about her dates, and I couldn't help but think of hopeless distance.

I had dinner with D. on Sunday. "How is life?" she asked. And I just kind of stared at her and blinked my eyes for a moment, wondering how much honesty was expected of me.

I listen to the spiders working on their projects late into the night, putting the room together. I admire their work ethic. All I care about is dismantling what little I've assembled. I want a bigger hole in my life, big enough for me to slip out into the fog, disappear, and never come back.

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