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October 27, 2015

When I walked in the door I tried to tell my mom about how hard it was today. How every slight by the school seemed to be carried solely on my shoulders. How every inconsiderate driver was a symptom of something large and insidious. How seeing behaviors hurts me while other people seem to be okay. I thought of staying late in class today because that girl might have a class at night. And I wanted to see her. Really I want her to see me. But I felt this heavy sense of aimlessness and melancholy. The people in my class drain me. The building drains me, all its sounds and lights. I wanted to tell my mom a lot of things But she wanted to instruct me. On what not to say. On how she worked hard today to do something for me I need permission to do everything Meaning can't be made with permission Because meaning is made inside Nonetheless I feel I need permission for everything