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The things I tell my dolls

Well, I can't discuss a lot of things in Winter Light. My name and email are out there now. I have submitted some job applications. I would do just anything to find a place where I belong.

Can you imagine how happy I would be? The feeling of getting a new job. Why, it's like nothing else in the world. I take it personally. I feel that not only my skills, but I have won, I am wanted.

And there is the austere desert of a position gone wrong. Awakening each day with dread in my heart, every averted look or indifferent silence a brutal stab, the pain of which follows me home and waits for me the next morning when I awaken.

I left, because I changed. I lost the sense of self I had worked so hard to gain, by degrees, in people who didn't believe in me. Every day I am sorry I quit. My mother thought I would be there forever. It was a secure position, just what my family wanted me to have.

I left a desert for a wasteland, a place with no day on or day off, no day and no night, an unstructured void for me to mold with my own hands, but instead of doing with it what I will, I stare at it sullenly from the shadows and one day and the next make no difference to me.

Nothing means anything because I have failed again. I began Winter Light in my first crisis. Every position of mine becomes a hell for me eventually. I don't know why.

I won't be beaten. I'll try again. Anything is better than being alone.

I'll find a place where I belong.

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