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for the press, for the record. i am doing just fine, just like everyone else. i've done a few things that matter and that's ultimately enough for me. living an irony-based jobless existence isn't much to write home about. and i don't feel good about it, but can't let myself feel bad about it, either. me and my animals are fine. my concept of the world tries to convince me to be more than fine. my dad called me today and i told him i was doing fine. at the time it was a lie, but now i'm internalizing it. fine fine fine. ok.

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