The inner machinations of a middle-class peasant.

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the tales we tell define who we are.

I really don’t mind Mondays I think. It’s not that the day itself is bad. Things just like to fall apart immediately when the day starts.

There was a person I dated for a little when I was about 15. I would always say “Good Mourning”. She eventually got angry at me and corrected me.

That’s it.

Monday Mournings.

please talk to me.