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Monday, February 16, 2015

Bulging Baggage

I think I can get to the really strange, eventually. As if this isn't strange. For me, it is. I'll try to get to the bigfoot, fairies, glowing beetles that were NOT fireflies... I'm just a monkey, tho sloth, puzzling over this square colorful object like a round peg into a triangle slot. And I'd SWEAR EVERY TIME I've got to go back a character or two or many and fix those letters! I SWEAR, I pressed the space bar and after commas or periods! I SWEAR, it's unbelievable how the curser line gets lost in the middle of a paragraph or won't let me position it where it should be to my satisfaction! It would be so nice if I could get it so totally right the first time, every time. This is sort of fun and sort of the opposite. There's too much that needs to be said that I'm not hearing from because of obstacles. I still feel like I could die at any moment, thanks to being forced to go to churches that screamed death at me when I was a young sloth that had not yet understood my own evil ways, inexperienced with those manipulations designed by a false intelligence, to do things. It sort of reminds me of typing class and having paper taped over your hands, well, my hands, because. you're expected to not look at the keys OR the words you're typing but you're still expected to learn that little bit of offensiveness as if it's some art. I was simply mildly ofded. Doctors are allowed to look at what they do when operating. ld be expected

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