I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it when I can't say anything without having my words misinterpreted somehow, and I hate the unbearable smugness and self-absorbtion of the people all around me, including the one my narrator lives inside, this one, here, in the blue skirt, sitting at a keyboard in a small room with ugly ceiling lamps. I hate
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Maybe someone just goes around putting random nice notes into people's mailboxes.
We have an organization here like that! We eat baked goods and color pictures and write happy notes to put into random boxes. (At holidays we put in holiday cards. Valentine's Day is especially lovely.)
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...That is a great kind of organization to have exist. Is it secret and clandestine?
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I really, really, really don't hate you even a little bit.
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Thanks. I'll try. :)
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