Once
when I was in college and I got a little too depressed and took a term off, I
volunteered at a small peace-and-justice-related organization and lived in a dorm
on the campus of this multi-organizationed place and had good friends on my
floor and an occasional weekend visitor with whom I was in love and it was good
to have my space there away from everyone and all the pressure, but there was a
refugee on my floor from a Spanish-speaking country, likely Central America,
and . . .
It was sounding very restorative there ...
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