Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Fifty
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Not a pants kind of day.
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He asks me if I’m the one who put the can of La Croix in the shower. Teenager.
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Dress weather.
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It’s not that I disagree. It’s just that I still have to do this.
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I am sad that she is leaving me.
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The beginnings of a migraine.
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I tell her that it is not that I need to leave, but that I have to get back to boundaries.
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“Cantadora - (Translation) Storyteller; keeper of the tale; folksinger; mystical feminine”
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It always feels like such a long drive.
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Yellow leaves blowing across the road. Fall is coming.