Dear Scary Room,
I concede. You have won. I cannot mount a last-ditch effort to make you un-scary by the end of Tuesday night. The Teenager is leaving Wednesday, and I go back to school tomorrow, so there - you win. Now stop taking up precious space in my brain, stop stressing me out with your constant silent judgment as I pass by, and just love me for pretending I had enough time to turn you around.
I will worry about you when I am 40.
Love,
Free To Be Me in 350
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