George W Bush took a bulldozer and dug a hole. Barack Obama is filling it in with a shovel.
The thing that keeps me alive isn’t love, or hope, or faith, it’s fear. Fear that dying will hurt. That’s all. People try to tell me that the reason I have to stay alive is because of all the people in my life who love and care about me, but the truth of the matter is that the reason I stay alive is that I suspect that watching my own guts spill out on the pavement would turn out to be surprisingly painful. The truth is that those things that make life worth living: love, hope, and faith, well, I’m just out of those. And, the truth be told, I put the number of people who would really miss me at three. That’s a sign.
I miss being happy. I was happy once, and every once in awhile I’m happy again, but these moments seem to be getting harder and harder to achieve. Maybe I’m just getting old.
London Andrews al fresco
Old Lady working in the greeting card section at CVS: Can I help you find anything?
Me: Do you have a greeting card that says “Congratulations on graduating from Law School and thank you for sleeping with me even though I’m far too old for you?”
Old Lady, handing me a card: How’s this? It says “You saw potential!”