I'm listening to the Beach Boys right now. We could be married/and then we'd be happy ...
That line always made me laugh. Not in a cynical way, but just in an isn't that naive way. Marriage is not the ticket to happiness. The reverse may, however, be true.
I love Adam so much. I don't write about that as much these days. That's because I'm not trying to prove anything. Who would I need to prove it to?
Thirty-six hours on the train. Loralee and Woodlawn. Lunch with Mohr and Britney. Showing Baz around for the third time, priceless.
We dropped Baz off at the bus for camp, hustled up to Nevada. We spent time drinking, talking, laughing. We came together, rediscovered.
It was awesome.
Adam and I first met at work. There I also encountered a woman I'll call Sue, because that was her name. Sue had battled breast cancer and won. Unfortunately, that did not give her any more of a holistic perspective. She was a bit of a bitch, if I am to be honest, and I am to be just that.
Donald Trump is just as blind. Son of a bitch gets nicked -- nicked! -- by a bullet meant for his head, and still he hasn't learned anything about life.
He's an idiot. And I'm with Kamala.
Really, the post title is what it's all about.
I'm 27 years old, and I'm lost without a path. I can't find the Czech Republic on a map. I still think it's twinned with Slovakia. I've barely heard of the Velvet Divorce.
My point is that I'm running. Fast and far, as rapidly as my stumpy legs can take me. And I've just hit a dead end that resounds globally.
