




When I was little I had a stuffed animal named Racoony (yes, a racoon). Somewhere around late elementary to middle school he developed a hole in his neck. I started writing little notes and thoughts and stuffing the papers into his neck. In 10th grade I gave this racoon to a boyfriend when I moved away, as collateral I suppose. Needless to say I never got Racoony back. Somewhere out there (possibly turned to ash by an angry teenage boy) is my adolescent stuffed diary.





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