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One time I was standing in the kitchenette at my old job and I said something about soy creamer and this kid was like ‘Oh, are you lactating?’ and I was like ‘Um, I am lactose intolerant…?’ and he was like ‘Yeah, same thing’ and I was like ‘OMG.’
And then I died laughing, but I came back to life once I had cake for lunch (AGAIN).
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So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.
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