eleanor

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It felt like the entire purpose of our lives was eating. No sooner had your belly stopped hurting and whining from the last ambush, than another meal or snack time was launched. And as you sat there, chewing your way through hunks of chocolate and caramel, you couldn’t help but frantically calculate the river of calories consumed, especially compared to the meagre amount that had previously sustained you.
The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting: The Tragedy and The Glory of Growing Up: A Memoir
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