No one is awake but me, no one heard me scream, and something is still in the room, but it's fading, and it was just a dream, and they aren't real, and nothing is going to hurt me.
It's December, and we're still here, and we're allowed to be unproductive for a while. I'm done apologizing for it.
I sat down as soon as a table opened up, and I figured I'd get my coffee as soon as the line died down, but that has not happened yet.
1. Right now—more or less anyway—you are trying to get something done. You’re only reading this listicle because you think it’ll be a quick distraction from whatever it is you’re really trying to get done. It’s okay, I don’t mind. That’s what I’m doing right now, too— I’m writing a listicle as a way of
“In a certain light, wouldn’t nuclear war be exciting?” he said. There I was, on what would turn out to be the middle of a long string of Scruff dates that would lead nowhere but a weekday drinking habit. He was in the Navy, maybe an officer if I remember correctly (which, I probably don’t).