Our hearts, into which something has eaten once when we were ill or weak, must be mended and patched so that that terrible pettiness and fear of being overlooked may be wiped out for ever. Not to worry about how one stands with people. Only to worry about real things.
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31 december 1942
Our hearts, into which something has eaten once when we were ill or weak, must be mended and patched so that that terrible pettiness and fear of being overlooked may be wiped out for ever. Not to worry about how one stands with people. Only to worry about real things.
(dw)
same day: Something screams out in me that is all filth and devil-worship.
let's have a telepathic deathday picnic party for dw on the 30th?
come back.
in fact, don't ever leave.
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