My mind is debating with itself; I hate when it does that. The night wears on and it
never goes anywhere. The debate mediator is highly biased in an activity that
requires impartiality. Its almost like he has something to gain or lose if the
debate tips one way or the other. In this dance of literary structures designed to
woo in sound logic the mind fails once again to come to a decision and another round
begins. At times a wish for silence from an inner, deeper, voice cries out for
silence as the crushing criticisms are tossed arbitrarily. This voice has very
little control; like a normally silent beaten child it cries out. The debate rages
on and finally is silenced by a thought that distracts all argument. A consensus is
reached without the mediators intervention.

Tomorrow we dine on pop tarts

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