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Too cold to work in my office... paint fumes give me a headache at home... too lazy to get dressed... starting my yearly feud with Rite Aid, the unneighborly store that refuses to shovel (the 5th Street sidewalk) & are eye-rollingly rude about it... I keep finding bits of old writing, letters, poems, all in my handwriting that is both completely familiar & achingly ancient...

I got this far then jumped up! got dressed! went to the store! came to my office!


Got hold of a senior Rite Aid person & supposedly it'll be taken care of now... The threat of calling an executive vice president doesn't seem to loom as large as it did a few years back, when everyone snapped into action after I did.
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