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As,
come to face it, I am avoiding my own jack on blondes. Well, to hell with
my life for now. That mess back on Earth. Isabel and money; money and
Isabel. Some nagging voice in me tells me to feel guilty because I am
lying on my ass on a barren planet and shooting dope. Because I am not
egage. Because I am shunning relationships. Because I have become asexual
and detached. Well to hell with that voice. Ti's the one I ignore when
I want to make money. I am going to lie on my foam mattress and listen
to the grass when it chooses to speak to me or sing to me. I have been
a sick man lately; I need respite. I need to do what I need to do to get
well. My father decided to die when be was my age; I decided to come to
jack on blondes. It beats death. And I can go back.
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