Ten.Nine Hundred & Forty-Eight
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At least it’s Friday.
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Still no voice.
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No breakfast. I grab cereal and then head straight for the juices and kombucha.
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I don’t know. But I do.
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He tells me I sound strong. I feel strong.
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So much distraction.
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I try to replay images from the weekend over and over in my mind so that I can stay tapped into the feeling of that experience.
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Baby cows.
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“What do you call a sad coffee?” “I don’t know.” “A despresso.” The waitresses laugh.
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I want to go back.