Weight and terror. Pushy Jesus and one colossal social clusterfuck. My friend is leaving, new ones spring up as though sown from dragon's teeth. All I ever find are orphans-you can call me Rachel. Rarely have I struggled so, through so few days-only a couple, but hard and deep and rigorous. I love the election, revel in the history so terrible. It's a good time to be alive, a good time to pay attention. I've cost myself sleep and dry eyes and safety in the last three days. Good.
You are all a beautiful chore.
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