Cleaning. It holds a deep-rooted anger, for some reason or another. Resentment. I don't know what to do with this mess. Anger. Fusteration. Then I sit down among it and I see I am attached. I am attached in that Can't Throw Away Calenders & Planners sort of way. Every piece of paper is a piece of me and I can't bear to see it go. I don't know what
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