I've been reading a book about France called Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong. I've never been there, but I like France. Or the idea of France. So at lunchtime, I thought the Quiche Lorraine from the cafe across the street looked like a good idea.
WRONG! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! I am drawn to the worst food in Manhattan in like rat to a subway tunnel.
Really, I just want to cry today. I want to cry and curl up in my bed under all the covers and make all this crap go away. Instead, I'll just bang my head on this desk and wrap myself in this fleece-y teal shawl.
3 comments:
No, no, no, silly! You can't "make all this crap go away." You can only move it around. I suggest you move all the crap around into the shape of an anvil and then push the anvil out your window. Points if you hit Dr. Phil.
Well, I don't know, Esther. I kinda like Dr. Phil. Don't you think he seems like a nice boy? He's sorta like an overgrown nice neighbor boy who mows the lawn and rakes the leaves. Perhaps a bit arrogant in his niceness. Always SO greatful for milk and cookies. Maybe a bit annoying in his ability to get straight "A"s.
Oh, what the hell. The anvil's going over...
I think crying is wildly worthwhile.
It may not change things, but I say give it a go, regardless.
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