The small graces of late night conversation, of the catharsis of admittance in a safe place, and the resultant laughter when resolution has been reached and we can laugh about things various and sundry. Venting and laughter are needed for survival, it seems. I drive home through the rain feeling like a weight has fallen from me, at least for the short run. My apartment smells like mint in my attempt to eradicate the rodentia, and there's a voicemail on the phone that could mean anything but probably won't mean much given my track record of brief attempts and longtime platonics. We shall see...
Ozzy wants you to be the symptom of the universe. I don't know what that means.
ReplyDeleteVenting is overrated. Ulcers are the new black.
let love live
ReplyDeleteyeah
yeah
yeah