Glue your heart back together with mozzarella and paint it with pinot.
It’s almost been three weeks. The rest of the world seems to have jumped back into their routines while I still sit and sleep with this thing, or the loss of it, on an hourly basis and I’m reminded of it even more. In this instance, what, exactly, is the right response to “How are you?”
And maybe it’s because the effects are wearing off, but hearing that my insurance is no longer valid from the pharmacist filling my prescription for anti-depressants is just about the funniest thing I’ve experienced in the last two weeks.
“Brothers, how y’all feel? Sisters, y’all alright?” – EB
“Art means not having to be useful.” -ZS
“How to find happiness by lowering your expectations.”
“Reality is the best possible cure for your dreams.”
“We live in a world of rice made from chickpeas. The sky is the limit.”
I’m so tired of being poor and unimportant.
When Facebook asked why I was leaving my answer was simple and easy. “This is an improper use of my emotional labor.”