The ups aren't really ups, and the downs aren't really down either.
I can invision my head as an office, with fluorescent lighting and thousands of paper-pushers. And these little brain cell workers, they are flipping the fuck out, and burning the place to the ground.
Why ? Because I file the same blank page. Over and over and over and over again.
(Insanity isn't as glamorous as it looks, but tomorrow is a fresh start, and that mirror is full length.)
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