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April 19, 2014
So. Fucking. Exhausted.

Wounded animals.

She tells me that, in high school, her dog had a tumor. Her mother took him down to the basement, fed him Nyquil, and made her hold him while her mother tried to cut the tumor out herself.

She tells me about her mother's suicide notes and dates with other men. Her mother's hatred of women.

My head hurts.

We have not spoken for eight years, and this is the content of our first conversation. A four hour conversation.

Now to go to a dance party, sleepover, blah blah yadda yadda who cares. So tired.