Ten.One Thousand & Fifty-Two
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Friday? 
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I lay in bed a little longer and watch the light creep in. 
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Water, water, water. 
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A baby snail on the back of a grown-up snail, and my goodness, I think my day is made. 
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Wet slate. 
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I know that if I make them come outside for recess, they will just complain. 
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Another round of lemon bars. This time she recruits her little brother for help. He tells her that we already have too many desserts: ice cream, 4 slices of chocolate cake, and 5 chocolate chip cookies. He’s not wrong. 
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I drop a hint; maybe I shouldn’t have. 
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The thing about frying fish is that everything ends up smelling like fried fish. 
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I compose the whole thing in my head and then decide I probably won’t write it anyway. The point is: don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. 
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Miracles are scattered beyond.