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23 June 2002 - 12:02 am

Two months ago, before medication, before therapy, right about the time when I was so depressed that I couldn't leave my room, my roommate (we're not "together"), a.k.a. Fuzzy-grey, told me I just needed to get laid. Then some other people told me to get laid. I think they were trying to help, but at the time I was a little resentful. To have them think that all I needed to cure me of the horrible depression consuming me was a piece of ass ... well, that annoyed me to no end. And then my ex-boyfriend called and I went over to see his new house, knowing exactly what I was getting into: a tour that ended in the bedroom. And it was the best sex that I'd had in a long time. With him I wasn't self-conscious. I could be completely relaxed, completely at ease. I could even laugh. It was something that I hadn't experienced since I'd been with him those many months ago. It was nice. And I had to admit that I was in a much better mood. Fuzzy-grey was right.

All hail Fuzzy-grey, who we should never doubt when her advice is dispensed, especially when she’s telling you to go get laid. {bows deeply}

 

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