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These days

when it seems everyone within five feet is healthier, better dressed, and more secure than I will ever be

when any opportunity to be off my feet feels like a vacation, even though it lasts only just long enough for the ache to disappear

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when any trip that is supposed to be a vacation feels like work between the planned events and the obligations, and the collapse into bed may just as well have come after a 10-hour day anyway

when the pendulum of opportunity swings to overdriven obligation, then swings quickly back to aimlessness, with a seven-second stop of a life I can appreciate and enjoy

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when the wind burns my eyes shut and keeps the flame pressed until they tear up, which I only enjoy because it's the closest to a cathartic cry that I've had since I can't say when

I wonder

how little sleep I'll get tonight

why I think I'll feel unhappy no matter how much money I make

If out-of-place can be a permanent condition

about keeping a job where I only deal with animals because it means I have to talk less to people, or just not worry about the illogical shit that drops out of the mouth part of my face

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if the images of bashing my own head into a wall until everything is painless will move from disturbing idea to a plan for the weekend

If I will do enough to stop that from happening

who has it worse than I do, make a quick estimation of numbers, and decide that maybe the happiness of someone who threw away as many advantages as he could, except the ones afforded to him by his skin color and gender, is worth salvaging in the face of these — what good are these

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Oh me

Oh life

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