And so it starts. When crying in an Irish pub is out of character over bangers and mash. That I become so nauseous, I honestly think I've been poisoned with cinnamon. My stomach just keeps rolling and rolling; it'll be time for Mountain Dew and toast again
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Hugs and kisses sweetie. Sorry I missed your call tonight. Hang in there. You know you always have a bed to crash in. (Even if it does roll around).
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