Fresh Starts

Fall means different things for everyone. While technically the first day of Autumn is on September 22, the signs of fall are all around. Fog over the lake in the morning, leaves falling off trees and blowing on the roads, Monday Night Football, and Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Starbucks, a personal favorite of mine. Its chillier at night, the mornings are darker, and I want to make chili and pumpkin bread. So while everything in me screams fall right now, I know that it is almost around the corner. It may not be here yet, but it surely will be here soon.

While I see many of my friends posting on Facebook that they’re just not ready, I delight in Fall’s promise of fresh starts and new beginnings. Many parts of my blog are new. Can you tell? Though it may not be complete, what better way to begin the process of completion but to just start and put it out there? Thats what I thought today. I have a hard time with putting things, or myself, out there before its perfect (ha), or complete. It’s hard to be in process, and let others see. Welcome to my process!

So while summer is ending, and yes you summer lovers, it truly is, fall offers a fresh start. A chance for not only new school supplies, but a renewed excitement for the year to come. So come back often, I will be posting frequently. I would love to have you.

There’s sand in my bed.

Its become routine this summer for Addie and I to hit the beach after nap time. Generally thats when the weather has warmed up to balmy 70 something degrees, we grab our beach bucket, a diet coke, and I try not to worry that this will be the day my daughter chokes on one of the two billion rocks she’s eaten thus far at the beach.

Its usually a hit. Addie spends not an insignificant amount of time checking out boys in their bathing suits and sticking wood into her mouth, while I try to figure out if the lack of sunscreen I’m wearing will either connect all of the freckles on my body or inevitably give me skin cancer. It’s probably a combination of the two.

Ug, what I wouldn’t give to be golden brown.

Anyway, when its time to leave, I dust Addie and myself off with the capableness of any parent who has taken their child to the beach a dozen times, and stick her wet bottom in the car. And yet, inevitably, there’s nothing that I can do to stop the sand from being everywhere.  When I change her diaper, its in the cracks and crevasses. I find it in my hair, and oddly enough tonight as I was chewing dinner, a little somehow wound up in there too. Curiously, as I was rolling around in bed last night trying to get to sleep, I had to get up and brush the sand out of my bed. Quite a fair amount too. It kind of bugged me to tell you the truth.

For a lot of the good things, sometimes theres just some junk that goes with it. Going to the beach and getting some sun means that I will be digging sand out of all of our crevasses for few days. Even though I know that the good things are good, and they’re worth the sandy junk that comes with them, why is it still so hard sometimes?

Its been hard to lose these last ten pounds, because that means I can’t have dessert. I really just love dessert. Sometimes I have dessert.

Its hard to organize or clean my house, because that means sacrificing time from something I’d rather be doing, like reading on my deck in these last few days of summer.

Its hard to let bad habits go…because they’re fun and easy. But I know I’ll be better without them.

Its hard to let myself be worked on and worked out, because that means relinquishing the last bit of control I think that I have, and not being in control makes me really uncomfortable.

So yeah, the sand in my bed is really just a giant metaphor for something bigger going on that God’s working out in me. What I am actually saying is, God’s doing some good in my life, but theres some crap thats coming along with it. I know, I also rarely metaphors so you’re taken aback. You thought I really just was talking about sand in my bed!

Oh wait, yes, yes, I do use metaphors. Like, actually quite a bit, like here, and here, and oh, here! And here and here and here.

I’m confident I’ll get through this awkward teenage adolescent phase of feeling like I’m continually growing up soon, as in hopefully the next few years, but until then, I’ll just continue to go the beach, inadvertently eat sand with my daughter, and write blogs about it.



Those clogged up drains.

I can’t think of a more effective way to learn how your plumbing system works than to have it stop working. I used to think that your food disposal was a magic tunnel that just took all of the food away. I honestly never thought about where it went. I even remember thinking once, “I wonder where all this is going…..hmm, oh well.” It seems rather intuitive (once you actually stop to think about it) that the disposal is connected to the rest of your plumbing system, right? This lends itself to the idea that if one component of the system stops working, the rest does as well. Let me tell you how this looked for us this weekend: old lettuce and beans rising to a new and disgusting life from the drain in our bathtub. Never have I been so glad that I did not recently eat fish.

At first, it didn’t seem so bad. But then, water from our toilets started to clog, sinks weren’t draining, and water (I don’t know if it’s the same water, I’ve since chosen not to think about it) started to come up from the drain in our bathroom, giving us about an inch of “I don’t want to know where it came from” grossness on our floor.

It seemed that by cooking a lot more at home, going out less, and shoving a whole bunch of food scraps in our disposal resulted in clogged up drains, unresolved food remains, and a large, giant mess for us this weekend. We weren’t dealing with our food scraps well, and as a result, our pipes didn’t know what to do all the excess garbage they were taking in.

Can you guess where all this is going? Yup. Enemas and colonics.

I’m probably kidding (but we are talking about plumbing systems, aren’t we?).


Its all taken care of now, we’re utilizing our compost pile, being kind to our drains, thanking God that we have clean, running water in our house on a daily basis.

It seems that when you don’t dispose of things well the first time, they come back bigger, grosser, and hairier the second (and third and fourth, according to our tub drain). I realized that I was doing this this weekend as well, not just with our food disposal, but with myself.

I realized a few days ago that something about the past few months had left me feeling ineffective and exhausted. I wasn’t disposing of my junk effectively, and I wasn’t receiving grace from God either.

And heres the thing. When we’re in relationships with other people, whether they’re just friends, working relationships, your marriage, your larger community, we’re going to have to deal with junk. We’re very imperfect people, loving each other in imperfect ways, and because we live in fallen world, we’re never going to feel like our emotional bank account balance is full (though some days are better than others).

I’ve had to take the past few days and ask to be restored. I had to ask God to help me deal with my everyday debris better, and not just ‘shove it all down the disposal,’ because unfortunately, as I learned this weekend, somethings going to inevitably get clogged up when you do it that way, and it looks a lot worse coming back up.

So, the easy way can be taken, junk swallowed with a big ol’ swig of wine, but for me, it slowly, surely, clogged up my heart until things didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Fortunately, draino exists. You can take a drain snake to your pipes and unclog them. You can dispose of things more carefully, and not carelessly shove things down your disposal. For me, it looks like a cup of coffee and an early morning spent with God. Thats not how it looks for everyone, but for me, to hear that even Jesus was rejected (from his own people!), he felt pain, he felt drained, tired, weary, it lets me know I’m not alone. I can come to him with everything that I have and he’ll restore me. Circumstances may not change, but your heart does. And mine did.

Matthew 11:28-30

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Providence Living with Toddler Classes. Harder on Mommy.

My daughter isn’t walking yet. At 15 months (just a few days ago), I guess this isn’t common. Deep breath. Okay. I’m actually  (mostly) okay with that. There are so many things Addie does well. She loves, so much. She hugs everyone she comes into contact with. She’s not shy (except with the girls from the Y, which I’m convinced probably have some sort of demonic mean streak or my daughter would reach out her arms to them instead of cry in short hysterics). Addie hugs every toy she picks up, before she plays with it. It’s like a rite of passage. “Here, let me hug you. MMMM, Loves. Now lets play.” Seems respectful to me.

So, today Addie and I went to her first “Living with Toddler Class,” through Providence Children’s Center. Addie gets to go through the classes for free because she qualifies for services through Providence Children’s Center (an absolutely program with amazing staff, FYI).

Usually, I’m all for meeting new Moms, new kiddos, learning some skilz…today I was shaking in my booties. I walked in and it probably didn’t help that my daughters nose is running like a faucet (I’m pretty sure that she is teething, although I am also pretty sure that we parents use teething as an excuse for most everything), so I have a few thousand kleenexes in my pocket to gather the residual snot that exits with grandeur at each sneeze.

As I sit down, it becomes evidently clear I am the only new mommy, for, probably 17 years (it feels like.) Usually I love being thrown into new people situations, but today, all the walking kiddos, barely older than Addie, had me petrified. Right or wrong, this is simply how I felt. Perhaps Addie could pick up on my feelings because she clung to my neck tightly and refused to let me stand her on her feet.

I tried to awkwardly make conversations with other Moms, I asked, “So, where did you all deliver, Providence?” (Usually a go to question for Moms, and then you talk about how amazing/or horrible your doc was, totally ridiculous), and they all said, “Yeah.” And that was it. No follow up, nothing. It was intensely awkward, and then they all continued talking.

I don’t personally think I’m the geekiest girl to walk the streets, but this morning was horrible. Moms pulled toys out of my babies mouth (because apparently more mature babies no longer put things in their mouth), and talked about other things that I apparently have no business talking about because as hard as I tried to be included, it. just. wasn’t. happening.

Heres the thing. I don’t really think these mommys did anything wrong….do you know what I really think it was? I’m so ashamed to say this, but I will, in case in some future tense it heals or helps another mommy out there. I was so ashamed of Addie’s abilities I turtled. She had a snotty nose, she couldn’t walk, and I felt like everyone was judging us. To be very completely and totally honest, I do very much think some of the mommies were looking at Addie’s crawling as a weakness. Well, screw them. And shame on me for letting others perceptions of my daughter affect how I think of her. She is absolute-flipping-lutey amazing.

I hate what I stereotypically refer to as “PTA” Moms. I felt like I ran into ten this morning. Since when does your ability to be exclusive make you superior? It doesn’t. Next time, I don’t care if my daughter has a snotty nose and hands you the same toy 20 times, please smile and tell her thank you because she is 15 months, and you’re much, much older.

I’ll be going back to this class next week. Please pray for me:).

My Pickle

The past few weeks I’ve been having an occupational crisis. The first hints occurred when I declared to Tony the other day that I was going to law school to “be like my dad.” As I rushed downstairs to let Tony know what I was going to do (I had already looked up admission dates at the U and was strategically planning out childcare in my head), he was playing video games and I got a whithered look accompanied with an “Uh-huh, cool.” If you didn’t know Tony this could come off insensitive, but if you know me, you also know I’m kind of prone towards giant declarations (I prefer to think of myself as adorably impulsive): “I’m going to paint the whole house this week!” “I’m running that 10k! (in one month).” “I need to go to Hawaii or I. Will.  Die.” <– that one came true, we just booked Kauai (!) and I think this was less of a spoiled need to simply tropical vacation, but more of a desperate compulsion to escape crappy life circumstances. The only solution I could think of was an umbrella drink, a book, and a beach.

I think most of my major life decisions are made on a whim. I decided I wanted to go to grad school in one evening, took the GRE’s two weeks later, applied to one university, and sixty thousand dollars later I have a fantastic degree that I feel, some days as I’m doing laundry or pushing the grocery cart down the aisle, like a moron for not using right now.

I’m currently going through a ‘whimmy’ phase. Tonight I looked through jobs and school programs, while all at the same time acknowledging how hard it would be to do those things with a baby, but still wanting them very much (Would you like to watch my child for free?) It’s hard finding your identity as a mom, especially if you’ve previously found it in school or working.

I think of things like, “If I have another baby, and then wait for them both to be in school, and then go back to work…will I still be….smart?” I’m not sure. Or, if I waited that long to go back to get my doctorate and counsel, would I be too old? I feel like I might be too old. It’d be nice if life were significantly longer, with more time, more childcare, more money, and less pressure.

(Interestingly enough, I’m not sure where this fits, but there is an occupational crisis scale and several studies looking at people who suffer from ‘occupational crisis’s, and most of them were women in the psychology profession…(twilight theme music…)

So, while some of my whims are truly that, just whims, some aren’t. It’s really hard to tell the difference. Do I really want to work or go back to school right now, or maybe I’m just looking for something to make me feel like I did when I was in grad school. If I’m really honest, I loved studying, I love solving problems and writing papers. I loved my internship, I loved running groups and counseling…it was just fun.

For now I’ll lay off cruising the internet looking at admission policies and scholarships and deadlines…I really think we are a grass is greener culture, but hopefully I’ll soon figure out exactly it is I’m looking for.

That last paragraph sounded a lot like what a drippy background narrator would say during the intro to a WB show, but you get my drift.


I need to go to Hawaii. Among other things.

My mom and I stood in her bathroom tonight trying on wigs that she bought for the impending head shave, and I realized several things.

First and foremost, I don’t really make an attractive blonde.

Secondly, I always thought I’d deal with crisis better.

I also thought I was really okay with it when Tony and I cancelled our vacation to Hawaii in December. But I think the thought of sunshine was actually really keeping me going for a while. Tonight, as Tony and I drove up to Mount Vernon, I looked outside at the cold, dark, gross brown snow, and then back at Tony, and

told him that I really think its an emergency that we take this trip. Apparently the crazed look in my eyes prompted him to agree. I think its okay to need some sun. I’m rebooking this weekend.

Lastly, I’m not sure if I know what it looks like to deal with things “healthily” anymore. I always thought a counseling degree would prepare me better to handle adversity, but apparently counselors are some of the craziest people out there. Oh well, at least we’re entertaining as we socially circle the drain.

I haven’t dealt with this whole ‘cancer’ thing that well. Then again, I’m realizing that I don’t even know what that would really look like. I’d really love for someone to tell me what it really looks like to deal with a parents illness in a good way, besides grabbing a glass of wine and not thinking about it.

But for now, until someone brilliant gives me all of the answers, I’ll peruse deals to Maui and pack my shorts.

risky behavior

A while ago I was watching The Switch, and while that movie isn’t really a cinamatic masterpiece, it had a line that really resonated with me. Sperm donor (see? Already you want to watch it) Patrick Wilson walks up to fellow character (Jason Bateman) and says, “Hey, you know, we don’t really know each other. Lets grab a beer.” I know that seems so commonplace, but it takes courage to let someone know you want to spend time with them and get to know them. I love the honest way he asked him to hang out. Too often we assume that other people either 1) have enough friendships, or 2) they simply wouldn’t be interested.

In my time off work, one huge long giant week, I’ve tried to be intentional. Intentional about working out, organizing and cleaning my home, spending time with my daughter, and paving new relationships.

I don’t know about you, but putting myself out there can be intimidating. The simple act of asking someone you don’t know to coffee, well, that can be tough sometimes! There is nothing like the relaxing feeling of an old familiar friend that really knows you…but in order for that to happen, we have to start somewhere!

I was reading a blog this morning that detailed some of the reasons we don’t pursue relationships:

1. We’re busy. I know in my own life, I’m drained by the end of the day. Making my way out the door for drinks at 7:30pm (gasp!) with a friend can be challenging, especially when its dark and cold outside and your couch and pjs are calling.

2. We’re hurt. Relationships aren’t always easy. We get hurt when others don’t reciprocate, when we feel unimportant, when you feel you’re constantly initiating…the list could go on!

The blog author shared several ‘joy-stealing’ thoughts that can consume us when we’re starting new friendships, letting others into our homes, and spending time together:

Is my home clean enough? Is my decor nice enough? I haven’t dusted in two weeks. My bathroom, or fill in the ____ is so outdated.Will they like me? What will we talk about? What will they think of me?

She writes that we’re so worried about ourselves, and what others think, that it absolutely ruins us.

Maybe I’m the only one who struggles with these thoughts sometimes (but somehow I don’t think so). Its too bad, and we let our insecurities drive a wedge between us and what could be fantastic relationships.

And so, I’ve tried to be intentional. In getting to know others. In putting myself out there. In asking someone I don’t know to do something. For me personally, this is a time in my life when my identity as a mom is still forming, and that affects a lot of other things…friendships being one of them.

We all want to feel important. I really don’t know anyone that has it all together. We all want to know someone values us, wants to hang out with us, or finds us interesting. Simply put, we all need to feel connected and that we matter.

I’ve learned that putting myself out there, although risky, almost always pays off. It’s not always easy, but the returns can be great. I’ve also learned that my unlikely friendships can be some of the ones I find the most enjoyable.

Why not throw in a cute picture to drive my point home? I’m a sucker for chimp faces. This is pretty dang adorable.

How do you ‘put yourself out there’? How do you pave the way for new relationships? What helps you be courageous? Please share!




peek-a-boo with your fence

I know there are responsible things to do. And then there are things you have to do. And then, well, there are things you just do. This week I had a quick and dirty lesson in ‘the do’s.’

A while ago I had a baby. Actually, lets jump back a few steps.  Before that, I went back to school, incurred a ridiculous amount of student loan debt, graduated, and then I had a baby.

I decided I wanted to stay home with Addie. Scratch that, by default, I stayed home, and I did want that, but I wasn’t entirely sold. She was born in early December, and I didn’t think it would work very well to start a school counseling position and then almost immediately take maternity leave, though it could have been done, it didn’t sound like something I wanted to do.

I wrestled a lot with staying home for a bit. There was a lot of joy and certainly a great amount of convenience in staying home, but I would constantly scour school district websites for jobs, think about little things I could do to work; basically, I spent my time peeking over the fence and never really settled into being there.

At the end of last year I was offered a job, not in my field, but close enough. It was a great deal for a working mom, almost as good as you can get, wonderful people, great program, in house daycare and all signs seemed to point towards, “You’re a dope if you don’t take this!” So take it I did. And I did it, gratefully, and then things started to slowly fall apart.

Addie got sick…all the time. Not just the sniffles, but the barfs. Fevers. And then the sniffles in between. I’m fairly sure that I left butt marks in the chairs at the walk in clinic. Sleep came in short doses…Tony stayed home, I stayed home, my mom drove down, and it just got ridiculously sucky hard.

At some point I lost my joy because it became clear that things just weren’t working. Tony got to a point where he couldn’t work from home anymore, I got to a point where I was slacking in planning because I was slacking in life, as a mom, tired and giving half to everything, and then Addie got sick again. I met with my boss for coffee last weekend, who’s just a classy lady, and she released me from my position. I never would have quit. I just don’t…to my detriment, and I think at times to others, I just wouldn’t quit something, but to be gracefully released from this was a blessing. I sat at coffee surprised, but relieved. Everyone was getting what they needed.

As I went back and read this blog post, I’m grateful. I know that I got a chance to be a working mom, and its not right for this time in my life. That doesn’t mean it won’t ever be, but right now, its time to be home. For a day or so, I went back and forth wondering if this is the responsible, prudent thing to do. And then we decided that this was just the thing that needed to be done, and that was that. I’m home, I’m in with both feet, and thats a great feeling.

On another note, working moms are amazing. If you know one, you should tell her she’s amazing. Give her a Starbucks card, a hug, a compliment. I didn’t do it that long, but man. They’re incredible.



You get it.

I used to work in a popular coffee joint around town…the name of which will remain anonymous, but it was a fun place. There were always people coming and going, a lot of activity, good coffee, terrible hours. I wasn’t a bad barista either. I loved chatting with customers, I sling a mean cup of joe, and the hectic atmosphere of the place didn’t stress me out. Much.

Before I began work, I went in to sign papers and check out my schedule. On that particular day, I wore ridiculous shoes, flats with a slick sole, and walked behind the wet coffee counter and slipped flat on my bum. It was a pretty dramatic fall, arms flapping, butt hitting the floor with a hard thump, complete with a bruised ego. I’m actually cringing right now writing about it. I clammed up and was embarrassed, and I didn’t talk much until I left. From then on, my boss referred to me as “shy.”

When our mornings would get busy, he would say things to me like, “I know you’re shy, but don’t be so nervous of the customers,” and “This is a hard job for someone who’s really shy.” Huh? Granted, I’m not the world’s most gregarious girl, but I’ve never been called shy, unless it was around a boy in high school. There’s nothing at all wrong with being shy, but that’s just not me. I can chat up a stranger and feel fine about it, and I felt at home in the coffee shop. In fact if you’re familiar with this blog, you’re also familiar with my borderline unhealthy relationship with coffee. But he took that one interaction with me, and decided thats who I was.

So I would reply back to him, “No, I’m not shy. I’m really alright.” Or I would ask, “What makes you say that?” But he would simply continue to refer to me as his shy barista, and not in a cute and endearing way.  For the life of me, no matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t get him to hear what I was saying.

Eventually, I gave up.  Let him call me purple if he wants to, what I was saying wasn’t sinking in.  I didn’t work there for a terribly long time. It may have had more to do with the fact that I got a more applicable job for my grad program, that I was tired of getting up at dawn or missing evenings with Tony, but that lack of being understood and heard sure didn’t do anything to keep me behind the counter.

I heard an interview a few days ago about a guy who taught Charades Classes. He also fancied himself the best guesser in the game. Act out anything and he thought he could guess it. During the interview, he said that he was pretty sure most of his students fell in love with him. This might sound comical, but imagine it! You’re acting out a random scene from a silly movie, and all of a sudden someone yells out, “Annie Hall!” or “Revenge of the Nerds III!” And you think, yes! I can communicate, someone gets me when no one else does, and sure, you feel a little bond to the person who guessed correctly. So sure, I guess I get what he was saying. Which is also a reason I will probably never take a charades class.

So, if there’s a takeaway here, I think it would be this. Stephan Covey says that we need to first ‘seek to understand,’ then be understood. I don’t know about you, but I like people a lot more when I feel like they ‘get’ me. People don’t always get my jokes (and granted, they’re not always funny), but when someone does seem to really hear what I’m saying, it makes you feel good. When you leave time spent with someone, whether it be a dinner, drinks, or coffee, and you feel like they really cared about what you had to say, wanted to understand you, you can’t help but but feel warmly towards them. At least, I can’t help it. I try to really listen to people, but I still sometimes fall into the trap of listening to others autobiographically, filtering what people say through my own experiences instead of simply listening because I want to know them better. So thats my first step. Just listen to listen. I’ll let you know how it goes!

Content to Rent

Its hard not to feel totally caught when the lady who lives in the home you’re taking pictures of walks outside and asks, “Are you taking pictures of my house?” Um, yes? I then responded, “Oh yes, but I’m not creepy.” What Katie? For those of you know me well, you wouldn’t be surprised that I then proceeded to explain why I was taking the picture, and talked waayyy too much, and probably did come off creepy.

Big sigh.

Well, heres the house. (By the way, look closely at the garage in the photo. You can see the lady with her arms crossed, watching me take pictures of her house. I didn’t notice that until I put the picture on my computer)

So, this is where its all been coming from. I’ve been having an internal scuffle with myself lately, and an afternoon walk with my daughter gave me a lot of time to think about it. Some of you know the story of our living situation in the past year, its takes too much emotional energy to explain it all, so I’ll defer to The Nester. (She’s explaining her sentiments surrounding their rental journey).

…at times with discouragement and disdain and a sense of hopelessness. Every day of feeling like a second class citizen, like dorks, like kids because we rent has been worth it because of this space right here on the internet. I had no idea that those days of discontentment were my education on how to find contentment…{full post here }

Reading her post was therapeutic for me. I love blogs, mostly for transparency they offer. I always feel ministered to when someone opens up to me with their life, their story, where they’ve walked and how they’ve gotten to where they are. Sometimes it helps to normalize how I feel, and sometimes it just helps to hear what others have gone through. However, those conversations are rare. We’re all so private sometimes its exhausting. Ah, another post for another day.

My struggle lately has been this: I love the house we live in, but I deeply want to feel settled in a place. I look around sometimes when I’m home and its sad because I know that sooner or later, I will need to pack up this house and go to somewhere different. The memories Addie and Tony and I create here will need to be transferred somewhere else, and thats alright, but its rough sometimes. I’ve been wanting to expand our family lately….but I also want to feel settled in. I don’t think I can have both right now. We were at a house this weekend that felt so much a like a home…with each room having its own special touches, which is something that becomes added over timethose things take time. Those special touches and long stays in one place are something I want for my daughter.

So back to my intrusive google earthesque picture taking. I walked by this home on my walk and fell in love. My photo does not capture everything I could see, but I wanted to remember it, to keep it locked away. So I took a picture. And had a hard time explaining all of this to the woman in the garage watching me, who bolted so quickly towards me that I would have thought she was a bull and I was waving a red sheet. I looked at this house and the soft lights and people inside and felt homey, it looked warm. I thought about what I want for Tony and Addie and our (hopefully!) other kiddos by then.

And when I talk about looking in someones windows and photographing it, it actually does sound kind of weird.

I do know its not the physical structure that creates that warm feeling inside a house. I know its the people inside of it that make it feel like something you want to settle in and cozy up to. But I also know that its been difficult, to move in and be treated differently because you rent (it happens! believe you me it happens). I often want to tell our neighbors that we did own a place before, and then I realize that I don’t need to explain myself…but I still want to. Thats the hard part.

This struggle in contentment, its real. And its something I’m having a hard time with right now. Though I’m lucky enough to know that its not the situation that has to change, its me. I also know that usually I like to have a clean, wrapped up, cute ending to my blogs, showing you the conclusion I came to or delivering a punchline to a funny joke…but I think this one is scattered and messy, like me right now. Ah, its hard to be okay with that.






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