Every day I feel torn, because if I could change it I wouldn’t. But every day I feel like by bringing my kids into this world, the world *I* helped to create, or destroy, they’ve been given a life sentence. I feel selfish for wanting them here. Anyway, I hear you.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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