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Story Notes:

Discaimer: I own nothing

All these drabbles begin with "it happens" which refers to Pam taking a step toward becoming Fancy New Beesly. She won't be doing anything terribly exciting during these moments of illumination, just random everyday things.

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It doesn't happen until it's been a month since she moved out. She's unpacking the last box and, having decided to make an occasion of it, drinking a bottle of wine. She's not thinking about how depressing drinking alone is. Instead she is swaying gently to the music filling her tiny apartment, staring contemplatively at her colorful array of paperbacks, trying to determine how to organize them on the living room shelves. She doesn't have many books, she realizes with a sinking feeling, and almost all of them predate the new millennium. At the bottom of the box there are two moleskins, filled to the brim with loopy, girly handwriting and clean curly lines and she feels ancient glancing through them (she can't bear to read, to trace a fingernail over the pages, to breathe in the perfume Roy had gotten her for their first Christmas as a couple) They were meant to be thrown away when the box was first packed, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. She doesn't want to remember, but she doesn't want to forget either. The radio plays something soft and sad and she says, wait a minute.

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