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This morning I submitted the last of the documentation for my son's disability. Then I dropped off a housing application. I spent all afternoon applying for jobs. I. Am. Getting. Out. Of. This. Place.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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