"How Many Jesuses We Got On This Ship Anyhow!?"

As the holiday of Christmas draws ever closer, I am drawn thinking of what this day means to millions of people.

As I have recorded in a previous post, December 25th is not the day that Jesus Christ was actually born.  At the risk of sounding repetitive, the Old Testament actually puts his birth sometime in September - moving the celebration to the 25th was an excellent way to help convert pagan tribes to Christianity, as they were already celebrating the death of the old god on the 21st.  

Millions look to Christmas as a religious holiday, as a day to honor the birth of their messiah.  Others look forward to decorating and presents and large meals and the gathering of families.  

I wonder how Christ wanted Christmas to be remembered.

Now, as I have said before, I am not religious.  I don't think of Christ as the son of an all powerful deity who lives in the clouds anymore than the rest of us.  But I do see him as a philosopher who had the radical idea that we should all be nice to each other.  

I think that he would like us to always love each other, despite race or creed or social standing or who we like to have sex with or what job we have or what car we drive.  He was a very smart man.  Love really is the most powerful emotion, the most powerful force we as humans have.

Take a king, or leader of men.  Teach your people to fear you, you will never die in your bed.  You will be shouted down in the public squares and decried in free republics around the world.  Citizens will take to all media, social and otherwise, and call for you to be deposed in the most awful way.  

Conversely, give your people every reason to love you, to be proud to have you lead them.  You will be remembered long after your peaceful death in songs and statues and speeches and by future leaders trying to inspire the love that you did.  

Get another person to love you - and that doesn't mean romantic love, this is the love one human can have for another in the most pure and brotherly way - and you will always have an ally.  

There is a trick to this.  The easiest and most direct way to inspire love in another is to fiercely and without any restraint love that person.  You don't have to approve of everything your friend does.  You don't have to blindly follow where that person leads.  But find that element in them that you can love above all, and that's all you need.

I think that's what Christ meant.  

. . .

I wonder if Jesus was a popular name after he died.  You know, he was all famous, after he was crucified, was there a slew of children named Jesus Christ?  Was there a feminine form of the name?  Jesusette?  

I bet they were a little embarassed when roll was called in school.

"Jesus?"

Six hands go up.

"Ok, here we go, Jesus Anderson?"

I Could Easily Be A Serial Killer

We all have certain things that bother us.  Some people hate nails on a chalk board or Nicolas Cage movies.  And yes, while Nicolas Cage movies are insipid and disappointing to the point to nausea, for me there is one experience that just crawls up the back of my neck and stabs my brain.

I can't stand to listen to people eat.  It goes even farther than that.  Any noise that has anything to do with the mouth/nose area is about as pleasant as a root canal.  And it's not even chewing with an open mouth or talking with a mouth full of food - however that will fill me with a Charles Manson-like rage that has a very real danger of becoming an ACTUAL killing frenzy that would rival the Manson killings.

The sound of someone eating food politely, with a closed mouth, has the exact same danger as an impolite person eating like Gary Busey with a cold.  Even the sound of a person swallowing is enough to set me off.  That terrible squishing noise, the gulping sound, the aftermath of the swallowing which somehow has a racket all its own.  It only lasts a fraction of a second, but its there.  The closest I can come to describing it, is as the sound of the muscles in your throat morphing back to their original position.

Yes, I can hear ALL OF THIS.

And chewing gum.  Ho. Ly. Crap.

There have been many a time when I've been sitting on the subway and have had the great fortune to have some great cow sit next to me, snapping and chewing their cud.  Now, when I use the term "cow", this does not just apply to females - many male bovines have filled this description.  And I am aware that a male of that species is called a bull, but when you chew gum like a fucking animal, you are a cow.

And I must add that it is not just other people eating.  I need the TV or music or some other distraction on so I can't hear MYSELF eating.  As a result, I am a very quiet eater.

Now, don't get me started on other noises, like people sniffing snot up their nose, the sound of Styrofoam rubbing against itself and the sound a lozenge makes when it clicks against the inside of people's teeth.  

See, if I had any less restraint, I'd leave scores of bodies in my wake, instead of just screaming obscenities and making people feel bad about their lives and upbringing.

English Doesn't Make Sense

I have found recently that I have problems with the way people talk.  Of course, correct grammar and malapropisms are always bothersome, but colloquialisms have begun to grate on me.  Mostly because we don't ever think about what we are saying.  Someone who doesn't speak English who hears us saying these things must think we are complete assholes.  Not to mention that many of these sayings are direct excuses to BE a complete asshole.

Let's begin, shall we . . 

• "Let me be honest with you . . ."

This is a prime example of  being an asshole.  This implies that you (the speaker) were not being honest to begin with.  Thank you, yes, finally!  Be honest with me!  Enough with your lies!  The truth will set you free!

• "The truth will set you free."

Ok, we know this isn't true!  How many movies have we seen where the exact opposite has happened?  And, as we all know, movies only tell the truth.  Didn't everyone see the new A-Team movie?  Its the whole reason they left the opening for a sequel, because of the truth the imprisoned them!  And to give an excuse to show Liam Neeson being an ass-kicker again.

• "It's always in the last place you look."

I don't know about you, but I always keep looking for stuff AFTER I've found it.  Of course it's in the last place you look!  Even if it was in the FIRST place you looked it will still be the LAST place!  Why would you keep looking?  Ok, maybe if you're an old person and you forgot you found something you might keep looking, but that's a specialized chase and this saying wouldn't apply in any case.

• "Listen . . ."

My father says this to me all the time when I talk to him on the phone to emphasize that what he is about to say is important.  I am on the phone with you.  OF COURSE I AM LISTENING TO YOU.  What else would I be doing?  If I was in the middle of an extremely sensitive chemical experiment, I probably wouldn't be calling home for a chat.

• "Near miss."

Let's take a moment to examine this phrase, short as it maybe.  Wouldn't a near miss be a hit?  Just think about it.

• "Strictly prohibited."

Because just regularly prohibited isn't enough.  

• "This is just a shot in the dark . . ."

This implies one of three things.  A - That you have no idea what the crap you are talking about.  B - That you are a condescending jerk who is attempting to make someone feel bad.  C - That you are about to do something extremely dangerous and you have no business carrying a gun.

• "It's like shooting fish in a barrel . . . "

This just leaves me with all kinds of questions.  Why would you be shooting fish in a barrel?  How many fish are in the barrel?  Is there water in the barrel?  Are the fish alive?  Why are the fish in the barrel to begin with?  If you have the fish in a barrel, why are you shooting them?  It's just excessive.

• "It'll be a piece of cake . . . "

Unless someone made the cake for you or you made crappy cake from a box, cake isn't all that easy to come by.  Does the cake have icing?  That's more work!  At least if you want it to be good.  And what if the person you are making the cake for is lactose intolerant?  You have to get special ingredients to make everything work.  Cake doesn't just magically appear!

• "You can't have your cake and eat it too . . ."

Um, yeah you can.  You're just upset cause you have to make cake for someone who's lactose intolerant!

• "Very last."

How can something be more last than something else?  COME ON, GUYS!

 . . . 

See what I did there by making that the last one?

Sleep Life to the Fullest

*Editor's note:  I am probably about to contradict a lot of things I wrote in my previous post about death, so true if you believe it's true, not true if you don't believe it's true, check at home.*

I hate the phrase "I'll sleep when I'm dead".  Why on earth would you want to do that?  First off, how do you know that you can sleep when you're dead?  Or that sleep has the same sensation and satisfaction as a good sleep-in till noon while you are still alive?

A friend of mine told me recently that when he has only a couple years left in his life he is going to stay awake as much as possible.  In my opinion, that is a terrible idea!  So you'll spend the last years of your life, which are probably already a questionable experience to begin with, sleep deprived and cranky, just because you want to "live life to the fullest"?  

Why not spend those last few years enjoying the feel of pillows and blankets and sheets and all that good stuff?  I mean, they call them restless spirits for a reason, people!  

What if in the afterlife, there is no sleep?  What if you spend eternity as a half-awake, half-asleep, exhausted, cantankerous wraith?  And its all because you didn't enjoy sleep when you could have, because you shunned sleep as a living being.   

See, this is why I don't believe that God wants us to deny ourselves.  Some religions forbid certain foods, men touching women and so on.  I think God (whoever and whatever that is) wanted us to eat good food when we want to eat it, fuck who makes us happy and enjoy the presence and company of our fellow man, because in the end, all we have is each other.  We have what we gave to the rest of the world, not what we denied ourselves.

Although I do know what my own personal hell would be, if the afterlife does come down to that.  I would be exhausted and trapped in Times Square on New Year's Eve.  Oh, and I have to pee.  And I am surround by tourists and someone has stolen my wallet and it's cold and awful and there is no escape!  For the rest of eternity.


Damn, this got all philosophical again.  Next time, irreverence all the way!

The Banjo Makes Them Unique

I recently watched a YouTube video that I feel deserves a response.

This video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRfjLfyXYlA

I'll give you the gist of the video.  It opens on a black man and a white woman in an elevator.  The black gentleman narrates the video, saying how much he hates it when he gets in an elevator with a white woman who moves away from him and clutches her purse all the more tightly, just because he's black and she thinks that because of this, she is in danger.

Let me say, to begin, that I do understand where this video is coming from.  I have seen this behavior, and to have it be a knee jerk reaction has got to be annoying.  However, I think I speak for most women when I say, this is not a behavior that is limited to black men.

If I am in an elevator, by myself, depending on the time of day, if a man who is a stranger to me gets on the elevator with me, I will be a little more on edge.  Black, white, Hispanic, it doesn't matter.  As a woman, I have to protect myself and if that means becoming hyper-aware when a stranger gets in a small confined space with me, I will assume a defensive position, racism be damned.

And you can't tell me that black people feel completely comfortable in all situations with white people.  I am sure if a black person was walking down a country road in the south and saw a group of white men standing by a pick up truck, holding a piece of rope and a banjo that they wouldn't feel a little uncomfortable.  Well, that was just the Southern Men's Jump-Roping Chorus, and they were on their way to a competition.  Yeah, and their truck was broken down, and you could have stopped and helped them on their way, and they were sure to win that show-down, but because of your inferences, they lost.


Who's racist now?

It's a Living . . .

Today we are going to go over catering etiquette.  This is the way to behave when attending an event that is catered.  

Your attitude toward the waitstaff is vitally important to the experience you wish to have.  This is different that being at a restaurant.  A catering staff is a very close knit group of people.  We turn blank halls into bar (and bat) mitzvahs, sweet sixteens, weddings, office parties and whatever you can imagine.  We can make your entire night a living hell if we want to, and more than likely, we already want to without you being a rancid whore.

If you are a skinny bitch who isn't going to eat anything, that's fine.  We are a little annoyed by that, but not completely.  What annoys us is when you pretend that we don't exist.  If we walk up to you with a tray of food (the tray is heavy, by the way) and smile and offer you a taste and you act like we're invisible, we are going to find a way to either spill something staining on your expensive clothes/fur coat or find a way to get you to ingest a human secretion.  This will become a game with us, and you will be known in the kitchen as the skinny bitch in the corner.  You don't even have to be evil to everyone, just one person and we will all know it.  And it is so easily rectified.  All you have to do is look us in the eye, say "No, thank you," and go on with your bitchy awful life with a husband who doesn't love you, kids who resent you and a gym membership  to fill the holes in your worthless life.

This is not the place to pick up women, so don't.  Especially not if you are an ugly, skeezy troll of a man with bad skin and a voice that grates like nails on a chalk board.  We are working.  We don't want to be.  We've been there for hours before you and have to stay a lot longer than you, and even though we're girls, we have to lift very heavy stuff.  The mood is not right for you to stop us on the floor while we are trying to pass food (again, with a very heavy tray) and try to get laid.  You won't succeed, and you will be targeted and laughed over in the kitchens in both English and Spanish.  If you are so struck by our beauty in our all blacks and ties and comfortable but unattractive shoes that you just must say something, just don't.  I know you feel like you know us because you've been staring at us from across the room all night (yes, we have noticed), but we have spent exactly two seconds on you, and you are just a creeper stranger who's had too much to drink and definitely doesn't make as much as he says he does.  We can also see where your wedding ring was. 

Catering is not like a normal job.  We don't have set hours.  So at the end of the night when everyone else is left and you are still clinging to the bar like a barnacle to a blue whale, we want to kill you.  We've been working for HOURS before you even thought about coming, and the longer you  stay, the smaller your chances are of getting home unharmed.  When we start closing up around you, GO AWAY.  If you see us clearing away the last of the food and pulling linens off the tables, GO AWAY.  When we take off our ties, let our hair down and start stacking chairs, GO AWAY.  Granted, these hints aren't the clearest to the most idiotic of the herd, but pretend for a moment that you care about someone other than yourself and move your ass out the door.

All in all, remember that your catering staff are people, acknowledging our presence is an awesome thing to do, and if you are an awesome person and get a catering staff on your side, we will take such good care of you you'll feel like this party was thrown for you by Jesus himself and not by your nasty boss who's begrudging every glass of cheap white wine at the sparse office party with the cheesy DJ and a room full of co-workers, drunk and dancing more whitely than ever in the history of drunken dancing.

Guess what I did tonight?

But Seriously, Folks . . .

I'd like to talk about death.

Over the past couple years I have come in contact with death.  It's made me wonder why it is such a taboo subject.

I am a firm believer that death is a part of life.  It is not a punishment, it is no retribution for something we have done.  It is like being born, or going through puberty, it is another transformation of life.  

Don't get me wrong, death can be very sad.  When my granddad died I was inconsolable for months.  The deep and abiding knowledge that someone I loved so completely was no longer on the same plane as me cut me to the quick, it hurt me in a way I had never been wounded before.   Knowing that I would never get the shy but incredibly loving hugs he would give, or hear that same story he told about WWII over and over again or see the way he would be as quiet as possible at family dinners, not because he didn't want to talk,  but because he wanted to get as much food as he could before my grandmother could yell at him was the closest to despair I had ever felt.  

But that was me, that was the living's response.  Granddad was ready.  He left quietly and full of love.  He was freed from the confusion and weakness that comes with age and is somewhere else, in some other form.  And while I miss him desperately, I would never wish him back to where he was.  His happiness is just as important as mine, and coming to understand that not only can we not prolong death forever, but we also, in the end, don't want to.  Living forever is not an attractive prospect.

I also have to take issue with the way media portrays death, especially if it comes at the end of a long illness.  Often we read that someone "lost their battle against cancer".  They make the deceased come across as if they were a loser, someone who wasn't good enough to win this epic struggle against an all knowing and inherently evil disease.  I hate to break it to you, but it is just a disease.  It has no agenda or dastardly plans.  A person does not lose to cancer or heart disease or AIDS or anything else.  Living with a disease is, once again, like birth, like puberty - it is another state of being and yes, it is not comfortable or dignified or somewhere anyone wants to be, but it is there.

We don't lose when we die.  We may be overcome by disease, but the disease isn't evil, it is just the way it was made.  We aren't being punished by a gathering of cells or a virulent virus.  

We are being asked to move into another state of being.  

I'll write something irreverent and insolent next, promise. 

A New York Holiday Tradition

Today is that most magical of days in New York City when hundreds of people (men and women) dress up as Santa Claus, get piss drunk and run amok all over the city.

Today is one of the days I hate living in New York City.

I work for a yoga studio in the city for my money job, and as I was signing in a class - a very busy class I must add - I got a little bit of that New York magic.

I had just fixed a problem in someone's account, and I look up to the elevator to see four drunken idiots dressed as St Nick falling over each other into our studio.  I asked them what the fuck they thought they were doing. (Nicer, of course.  This is a yoga studio.)  One of them replied, "Oh, this is the wrong floor, we need to go up to the 4th floor!"  There are only four floors in this building.  We are on the 3rd and 4th floor.  Naturally, being the conscientious manager that I am, I  ask them what the fuck they want on the fourth floor?  Nicer, of course, as we do try to promote peace and harmony through physical expression.  One of the sloppier drunken merry old elves kindly replied, "Relax, bitch, my brother's up there."

The only other space on the 4th floor is a single large room that the landlord stashes his mistress and illegitimate son.  Here I had a dilemma, as mouthing off to the landlord's brother, however soused he may be, would be frowned upon.  On the other hand, there was no telling if the fine, upstanding gentleman slouching against the wall before me with a bleary stare and a crooked beard even knew what building he was in. 

I was busy at the desk, so there was no time for me to chase them up the stairs, but I sent one of my co-workers up there to make sure they didn't cause too much trouble.

They did anyway.  Turns out they had no relation to the landlord at all and I missed an opportunity to make a group of tanked Santas cry.  I threatened to call the police and they left, with more than one choice word hurtled in my direction.

I ask you, is there anything worse than a drunk asshole?  Why people drink to that extent is beyond me.  I have never been a drinker, alcohol has never once appealed to me.  It has nothing to do with my family or anything, my dad never came home blind drunk, my mother didn't drown her disappointment in me with a bottle of gin (she would tell me sober and to my face) - I simply never had the desire to drink.

Plus, that alcohol taste is awful.

It just amazes me that people go out of their way and spend a good deal of money to get shit faced.  What a lovely term, by the way.

Alcohol is a depressant.  It slows you down, and enhances whatever you are feeling.  So, if you are sad or angry or - heaven forbid - depressed, you are going to feel that emotion all the more, but with the added benefit of not having a censor button, so you're going to talk about everything you're feeling. 

Even if you are feeling happy and jubilant, because of the way alcohol works, you are going to feel like shit - emotionally and physically - at some point. 

I am not saying that no one should drink or we should go back to the days of prohibition or anything like that, I am simply pointing out the folly of this adult "recreation".  Some people drink just to get a little buzzed and feel good, some honestly enjoy a good wine or a good scotch - these people are not like the girl who vomited in front of my fiance and me on the subway last night. 

Explain to me why weed is illegal?

Six Foot, Seven Foot, Eight Foot BUNCH

I have a photographic memory.

At least I think I do. I remember things in pictures, say if I am memorizing lines I can see where they are on the page in my head.

As a result, instead of getting songs stuck in my head, I get scenes from movies stuck in my head.

For example, I can watch a movie once or twice and I can replay the entire movie back in my head. Let’s take the astoundingly fantastic film Rob Roy. Many people who have seen it could recall the pinnacle scene between Liam Neeson and Jessica Lange. They may even recall the lines – “How fine you are to me.”; “And you to me!”. But can they remember the way Liam Neeson gazes at his wife, as injured as he is, wounded to the soul, the way he holds her face in his hands as she is his only salvation. Can they remember the little gasp of joy that escapes from Jessica Lange before she says her line as she realizes that her dearest husband still loves her as much as ever, even more for her strength and courage. Her relief and joy are palpable in each breath and word. How about the way the firelight shines off her hair, or the single tear that falls from her eye in the beginning of her line?

With all this in my head, what scene is it that keeps replaying over and over in my head?

Remember the scene from Beetle Juice when Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis make everyone at the dinner table dance to the song “Daylight Come and Me Want To Go Home”?

Yeah. That one.

Cease and Desist

*Editor's Note - This was obviously written a while ago, but it's been itching for an audience. So deal with it.*

I know people think this is a joke, but there is nothing funny about equality.

Equality is what this country is all about. We as a nation were built on the idea that no one is shown preferential treatment, no one is held higher than another.

I think we all know what I am talking about here.

On behalf of both Halloween and Thanksgiving, I must order the winter holidays to cease and desisted.

Its been happening little by little, my friends. Every year its gotten worse. At first, it was just a couple if Christmas ornaments in TJ Maxx in late September. We’d look at them and say, “Hey, that’s awful funny to see those this time of year!” Slowly that one shelf in the discount stores grew to two shelves, and before you know it, we have an entire section of the store completely dedicated to the major winter holidays of the major religions.

First of all, Jesus wasn’t even born on December 25^th. Not even close. The Old Testament puts his birth sometime in the month of September, so we can rule Christmas out entirely as a viable holiday. The date of his birth was actually moved to closely coincide with the winter solstice, so it would be easier for the church to convert pagan tribes to the Christian religion. Christmas is a holiday built on lies and deceit. It is there only to encourage us to consume consume consume!

Hanukkah traditionally has NOTHING to do with giving gifts. It is a celebration of the victory by a small army of Jewish guerrillas against the Syrians, driving them from Israel, after which the Jews reclaimed the Temple and set about purifying it, and the oil which was meant to last one day ended up lasting the eight it took to make more oil. It should be a celebration of the continuation of the Jewish people. Honestly, overall it’s a pretty bad ass holiday, but it needs to stay in its place!

I'm not Jewish, by the way. I was recently ordained a high priestess of all religions - mostly so I can take all the holidays off.

Halloween has never gotten the due it’s deserved in hundreds of years! One of the most ancient of celebrations, the Celts honored Samhain as far back as 800 BCE. That’s before Christ, bitches! With the veil between worlds at its all time thinnest it was a time to dress up in scary costumes to keep evil spirits away, to go door to door to gather food to offer to gods and build BIG ASS bonfires. Can’t we allow ONE DAY for this without sullying it with Christmas waiting in the wings to pull it off stage with one of those big hook thingies. We are messing with other worldly shit here, people!

Let us not forget the most American of holidays, Thanksgiving. We aren’t basing this on a book or oral tradition here, this is shit that really happened! Maybe not exactly the way the teach us in kindergarten, but Honest Abe, Lincoln himself proclaimed the last Thursday of every November to be a day that we thank each other and our very LIVES for our happiness and family and credit cards and SUV s and overly elaborate baby strollers and Lindsay Lohan’s inevitable decline into insanity and everything else that makes us AMERICANS.

All I am saying is give credit where credit’s due, keep the winter holidays in the winter. Let them stay on their side of the line!

Later, I’d like to talk about how rabbits laying eggs has nothing to do with Jesus' zombie –like rise from the grave.

I’m looking at you, Easter!

People Have Too Many Friends

I have been a voracious reader my whole life.

It took me quite a long time to learn how to read. My first grade teacher was senile - literally. She used to write the words on the board during spelling tests and lock us in the closet if we were bad. I remember once talking while in line coming in from recess and she snatched my hand, holding it tighter than a vice and hauling me to the front the line to be made an example of. The school actually issued a formal apology to my parents and forced her to retire.

So it wasn't because I was stupid.

At the end of 2nd / beginning of 3rd grade I was finally back on track, and since then I have swallowed books whole.

Today I was buying some books from an author friend of mine (the phenomenal and delicious Clay McLeod Chapman) and I had the sensation of going through with a drug deal. We were standing in a dim theater lobby, me handing him a handful of money, him handing me books and in the true vein of a dealer of something I needed he offered me another one of his newly published plays - "No one knows about it yet, I'll let you have it for $10!" - which I enthusiastically threw at him. I need my fix!

What with Kindles and Nooks and iPads and all the rest, will books ever actually become obsolete? Will they only be in museums, will people look down their noses at them, snootily pointing out how bad they are for the environment, how many trees went down to make them, and so on and so on.

I can't get into the whole electronic book, I love the feel of a book in my hand, the ability to underline and circle and dog ear pages and all the rest.

How many children (I use the term loosely, it applies to humans from 1st grade to college graduates) actually love to read like I do? Really, the only reason I became the reader I am was because I had no friends. I figured that if I was the best at everything I could be then people would like me. Obviously this is an incredibly misguided thought that I was stricken with for quite sometime. I still feel the after effects of this life choice. However, it made me a incredible reader and very intelligent human being.

See, if I ever have children, I would discourage them from making friends and hand them a book instead.

Therefore I will not be having children, as I realize this behavior is what breeds kids who shoot up high schools.

Frankenstein's Monster Has No Friends

Do you think if the wolf man smoked pot right before he turned into a werewolf he would become just a really mellow puppy? He’d still be all big and scary looking but he’d just want to go for car rides and get his belly scratched.

You know, pot could totally be the cure for monsters all over the planet. The yeti would just want to drink hot chocolate and see how many marshmallows he could stuff in his mouth. Vampire teenagers would draw inappropriate things on vampires who were sleeping in their coffins, giggling incessantly the whole time. Mummies would show off how they can laugh and have their brains come out their nose.

Zombies we would probably still have a problem with, they come with built in munchies. As a matter of fact, how do we know that zombies just aren’t high in general? The slow, shambling walk; how easy distracted they are; wanting to eat everyone’s brains and not being happy with one serving. Maybe we have just never seen a zombie somber.

Frankenstein’s monster would be a total buzz kill though. He already goes around talking about how miserable he is, and how he’s all emo about being a monster and all. See, he’d be an alcoholic. Getting all weepy and depressed. It’s like, come on, man, you’re a monster, you were given a second chance to be large and creepy, you have a built in Halloween costume and you’d make a fortune writing really depressing poetry/philosophy.

His poetry would probably be really popular with emo high schoolers. It’d be stuff like:

My soul is my own,

But who’s body am I in?

Fingers, toes, nose

They belong to another.

I’m alone in this stranger’s body.

My stitches itch.

It’s so hard to be friends with people like that. You know the ones, their lives are terrible and nothing can ever help them. I can’t stand it. I knew a guy once who would call me all the time telling me how he had a terrible life and his parents hated him and he didn’t have a girlfriend and how he wanted to kill himself. No matter what I said, no matter what option I put in front of him, he would tell me why it wouldn’t work. Finally I told him to just kill himself, cause I was sick of hearing him complain.

After his funeral I decided not to become a therapist.