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<div style="font-family: 'Beth Ellen', cursive; font-size: 23px; color: #543b17;padding-top: 10px; padding-right: 20px; text-align: center;">29th of May, 1890</div>
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I have been carrying the notebook everywhere with me, for one week. My mood has definitely plummeted. As the week progressed, I felt that everything is pointless. I woke up feeling like there is no point to doing so, that the day would be just as it was the day before. It's not the first time I think this, but when it happened in the past, it was at bad periods of my life. This time it was also more <u>intense</u>. Unnatural, in a way.
I have no doubt now that this is what the notebook curses you into. It kills your soul, in a way. Takes away your drive for life. I felt that if I spent any more time with that notebook, another few months, maybe, I'd want to throw myself at a carriage.
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<center><div style="text-align:center;font-family: 'Beth Ellen', cursive; color:#543b17; font-size: 30px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 20px;width:295px;">G. Merrythought</div></center>
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