I'm not posting what complex I got.
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I'm not posting what complex I got.
You know, I might just print this horrible resurrection of time long gone on the back of the minutes noted today at work (a nine hour day in Parliament today. NINE. HOURS.), tear the article up before throwing it in a waste basket and throwing a lit match in for good measure.
Then vent about something completely in my journal to take my mind off of this. And force myself to eat something. Or just drink. The latter sounds very convincing right now.