I have very interesting mourning patterns. I have yet to cry, yet I have managed to vomit (not alcohol induced), eat nothing all day (sadness slows my metabolism further), dance around the edge of sleep, watch bad television, drive UNDER the speed limit to random central new york destinations, and finally consent to a massive amount of Mickey D's goodness intake. Fascinating. I have also drafted the outline for a fantastic-reality novella. Still haven't cried. Maybe my ducts are broken.
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