Perhaps the freedom to make bad decisions is the biggest privelege of them all.
No one thinks you’re funny when you’re depressed.
Just because I believe in something doesn’t mean I believe that it’s good.
I’m just not so sure about a God who is just as generous with inexplicable death as he is with parking spots.
I mean, what exactly is the point in praying for her food when her dad died six days before she was born from something the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the state explained by saying “I don’t know why this happened.”
“Running in the morning is a good way to ensure that your day doesn’t get any worse.” And even though I saw it on Twitter, I hope there is some scientific truth to this meme as I set my alarm for 5 AM and set my running shoes by the door.
I don’t know how to cook for one. I make too much of everything and end up with leftovers that I won’t eat.
So… Apparently, “In the same way that everyone else does” is not the right thing to say when the doctor asks if you ever think about hurting yourself.
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?”