you, kid, are "special needs," which seems to involve needing exactly as much as you take, having nothing to do with deserving it (or not) or being forgivable.
you have an extreme excess that really is not an excess, really not to be measured, really should not be in the same room as whether or not the rest of us can deal with it or anyone is good.
I have a lot of inexcusable habits and frailties, that I would like to have nothing to do with whether or not I deserve them (that wish perhaps being one of those habits).
so, lately I am scared by and enamoured with you and I and our excess, wanting the too good truth to be that the question is not "is this OK?"
of course, I ought to come around easier, since my inner life is made of hibernating animals and funny filing cabinets but I'm not as clinically weird as you are, and I'm old.
you will lose it and I will be nice or patient or not, depending on how much I've lost it that day, and later we will talk about our cats, appreciate how soft things are, and say goodbye until tomorrow.
as it turns out, I am pretty terrible and less guilty than might be expected, but a little guilty about that, so I'm wishing that your child-life would prove I can stop thinking about it, whether or not.
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