no machine is more precious than the one that's been Repaired. even if it isn't good as new, it's filled with the loving kindness of the one who Repaired it.
in which rosalyn defies death of the authorgrateful to everyone responding at the face value reading of this post, which reflects a sentiment i do believe is one of my core values; but i feel obliged to clarify that in this case i meant it as a metaphor about my stupid shitty transition
