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June 1, 2001
At work, I become a strange version of myself, glibly struggling towards quitting time, assuming the studied structure of what I believe a person at work should be. I chit-chat awkardly with colleagues and joke, tentatively, always afraid that an uncensored comment will let fly and my ‘buddies' will realize just how whitebread they are (mostly), and how not whitebread I am. I want to be able to relax, but I don't want to offer insight into anything that occurs beyond the walls of that place. I'm one good necrophilia joke away from not having to go to lunch with the gang.