There comes a point, on days such as this, where every sound feels like needles in my ears. Every question someone asks me, or request someone makes has me searching for cotton to perhaps shut out all the dribble that continues to fall from the mouths of everyone around me. Especially my son, poor kid. God knows he’s going to be reading someone this blog on a leather sofa when he’s older. He will, however, be especially understanding of his wife’s mood swings.I’ve seen a spectrum of things this week and have come to the conclusion that we, as a society, are never truly happy. Someone whose life was worse than mine looks at...
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