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Two hours, eight minutes.

The sun really wants to come out. It's a struggle, to burn through the haze, but it is fighting valiantly. I hope it wins, even though I will miss it in Oregon.
Shawn thinks it's bullshit that it takes an hour and a half to fly there. I say he's never made the drive, and doesn't know it takes forever to get out of California going north or south from here.
I wish I could talk to whoever told me that if I lost 30 pounds I would see my cheekbones again. Except I don't know who it was.
I don't really care about the football game, but I'm going to watch it so people don't make me watch the commercials they liked. And as an excuse to eat chips and drink a "Mexican" coke. I haven't had soda in months.
Elliott likes to stockpile chips. He will keep at least 3 in his hand, and 1 in his mouth at all times. I thought he said I love you, Mommy earlier, but it turned out to be something about milk with a mouth full of cereal.
I hear seagulls.
I want to have a Portland story, but the more I talk about it, the less likely it is to happen.

10:08 a.m. - 2013-02-03

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