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Tuesday, June 17, 2014

The Morning After

Squashed, deflated, depressed. Too chagrined to go into detail. Thank you for reading. I hope and pray that one day I will be better at remembering that when I lose my temper and say venomous things to my husband and 18-year-old when provoked, it is I who will be left holding a dark and heavy bag of guilt and shame. A satchel so heavy that I cannot lift it, so I retreat to my bed, crank up the air and read or sleep, my loyal pal curled by my side like a puffy white donut ring. 

Perhaps I should run from here, leave these tangled woods.

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