being
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The last few days I haven’t been able to keep control of my letters. They keep switching up and making the words I mean to write a jumbled mess. And this is not figurative in any way. I’m seriously dyslexic of late. It isn’t a major issue, since we have these lovely computer checks of
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Once in a while I sit and reflect. Just be. In the silence, alone, waiting, and living inside my own head. It is a different feeling, this reflection, because usually I am always thinking, in the most deliberate of ways, but without conscious effort. My mind just doesn’t stop. I’m constantly assessing—for threats, I assume,
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I was talking with a friend a while back—one who became a friend after a couple of dates and still occasionally gets a “benefit” or two when I’m in the mood, but who doesn’t want to date me any longer. (Which is fine, because I don’t want to date him now either.) But I