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shiny objects

Saturday, September 25, 2004


I hate everything today. I'm sick, tired, coughing up fluid in every color of the rainbow, and just HAPPENED to get my cell phone jacked last night. That phone is my life. Within its memory is stored an entire lifetime of phone numbers, which are now quite possibly lost to me forever.

I've tried calling it a few times, but no one ever picks it up. They've stolen it from me. They will abuse it. It's all over now.

Friends will call it, expecting to find me. They will resent my silence. I will cower in my room, waiting for someone to alieviate my alienation, but no one ever will . . .


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