The woman eyes my items and tells me that she’s worried about how available CBD oil is now. “I mean, what’s next?”
I am using a frozen pizza to ice my knee. I know I shouldn’t answer a fool according to their folly, but hanger gets the best of me. “Hopefully pain relief and dinner,” I answer.
Insert inspirational humblebrag about getting up before the sun here.
This morning, I heard Oprah say that she’s at a place in her life where she doesn’t interact with people she doesn’t want to see. Dearest Oprah, how do I get to that stage?
Much like my post-graduate education, I am paying for this thing that I don’t use all that much.
“He’s out there living his life, and I’m over here stress-eating jicama.”
I wish you a journey of yellow lights with a bored, smalltown cop riding behind you the entire time. I wish you lactose sensitivities and a gluten allergy at a restaurant that says they have a full gluten-sensitive menu but really only serves two salads. I hope that one of them is your all-time favorite salad and that while you’re enjoying it, a delicious bite goes down the wrong pipe and causes your life to flash before your eyes. I hope that someone in the room learned CPR about three years ago and saves your life, but also cracks a few ribs in the process. The therapist said that I’m not supposed to waste my time wishing you ill so instead, I wish you regularly inconvenienced.
I mean, if God wants to be cool with evil people, that’s his choice, but that’s a dealbreaker for some people. He shouldn’t hide behind Old English and metaphor. He should be upfront about that.