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I'm converting this blog more into a spotty and incomplete journal that chronicles the glorious triumphs and unfortunate follies of my traipse through life. Though as I sit here with a club foot, in a plastic/velcro back harness, reflecting on how a guy asked for my number to hang out because we were both cripples on crutches, how a a mentally disabled man-child in a wheelchair grinned at me shyly and excitedly when he saw the breast plate of my brace, how little children follow me around the store loudly whispering to their mothers "what happened to her?", I realize that the content will likely contain a disproportionate amount of folly.
I actually don't have man-crush on Hemingway anymore.
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