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    when you come across an ogre in the woods with a thorn in its foot you're presented with some options. you can pull the thorn out of its foot and earn its gratitude, servitude, and it can save you from a robber later on when you blow the whistle. or you push the thorn deeper into the ogre's foot, until it learns self-sufficiency, its strength overpowering its pain it pulls the thorn out of its own foot and then it thrashes around and it grabs you and it shakes you until you are dead and it kills you and it tosses your lifeless body off into green woods.

    you can also leave.

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    happy International Women's Boxing Day
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    don't forget to be antiwar
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    who wants to go fishing down by the thames?
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    week 9; 2022

    I've given up. I don't think I really have anything to say about this week. It was my birthday. It's nice now that Spring is here. I made it beyond 33 without being crucified; trying not to take that personally. The oldest existing book using metal movable type was printed in 1377 in Korea. The gas man came over and switched off my boiler for the weekend. I was meant to be going out to an event for my birthday, but I gave somebody else my ticket for their birthday. I'm thinking of spiralling into a depression and never recovering. I'm thinking about how unfair it is that I'm the eight of swords and how I didn't do anything to deserve this and how it's everybody's fault but mine. OK; it's time to empty the dishwasher and fill the dishwasher and vacuum the floors and steam the floors and empty the washing machine and fill the washing machine and fold the laundry and put it away and fold myself and put it away. I cannot imagine facing tomorrow. It's even more embarrassing because my life is objectively blessèd and wonderful.