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Just got back to the library from picking up Deborah. The kid tells me yesterday to pick her up between 3 and 3:30, and then calls at 1:45 to say that she'd rather go home then-- when I stressed to her yesterday that I needed to know a time when she originally told me, "I don't know what time I'll want to go. I'll call you." Grrr.

And now I'm afraid that my mom is going to come home and see the painting and work that we did and want us to have done more. "Melissa, how come you only worked 12 hours a day? You should have worked 15!"

And then I'm in this crappy moodlike stance for so many other reasons. Gar.

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botticelli
thisgirliknow
Much like pineapples, I am hardcore.

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