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Reading on the internet is different. There's just too much stuff, especially with links, to ever just up-and-leave. She loudly lies ("You don't have a 'life'!") and is always trying to suggest that, with her many other available opinions, my own thoughts can't even be individualized. But I'm smarter than that bitch. (Shit, I was a crack smoker.) I leave anyway. Back,...to,..those many books,..Honestly, it's almost like that god damned nightmare dream of the martyrs: hoping I'll be returned to earth, only to be killed again.
But, I guess, I'm scratching some kind of an itch and that's always satisfying. More so than with my writing because, knowing my limitations, it's always screaming, "Idiot, get a thesaurus!" - another damn book - starting to see the problem? It's like channeling the devil - or at least another wife - and no, I won't be having any more of that.
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