An Open Letter of Gratitude to My Anxiety
You make me better. You make me ask the tough questions, like do I have rabies, and is the baby giraffe at the zoo mad at me?
You make me better. You make me ask the tough questions, like do I have rabies, and is the baby giraffe at the zoo mad at me?
I come from a long line of well-known, obnoxious sounds. My father was the blast from a cruise ship, my uncle was the exhaust rattle of a Harley.
You can imagine what my relief will be when I go under for my final rest, a sleep from which I’ll never wake up disappointed.
Attain Zen. Zen means knowing if you are smiling and crying at once, you are making a rainbow.
There’s nothing I love more than hearing all types of fireworks one after the other. Sometimes it’s a bunch of little ones; like 25 in a row.
I definitely don’t lay in bed motionless, hovering between sleep and wakefulness, until finally my hungry cat comes and scream-meows in my face.
Maybe you should have married into more money because it turns out teaching IS its own job: a 2020 "In-The-Time-of-Coronavirus" jobs list.
Blathering on about one’s own dream is one of life’s greatest pleasures, a kind of psychological masturbation that satisfies our basest desire.
Get Out of Bed: In this first phase, caution is the name of the game. I can't take any risks that could lead to a second wave of weekend lethargy.
My terrifying, needle-wielding aunt who breaks into my bedroom nightly, holds me down, and then gives me thousands of vaccines while I'm sleeping.
Let all your worries, cares, and worldly possessions flow away from your body… and into a rental truck parked outside...
She laughed, but do you think maybe deep inside she thought you were an idiot? Nah... Probably not. Anyway, no reason to hash it out at 2:32 AM!