This will pull me out of it.
Marked for days like a
sugar plum in hell (with
diarrhea and the croup).
A girl can dream, can’t
she? “Whoa!” is what
I instantly say to this,
the fan blades whirring
for their thousandth
consecutive day. Maybe
something remembered
would have me smile,
chuckle, or talk aloud to
myself in a cajoling, light
hearted manner. When
everything else is sheer
swill. Leaving a gas station
in Connecticut, someone sees
me wave in exasperation, and
skeptically waves back.
