I woke around mid-afternoon, stumbled into the kitchen, cut myself a piece of leftover chocolate cake, poured milk over it and had the audacity to think, "breakfast." This thought occurred without a sardonic chuckle. Without a self-aware reprimand. It was just, "breakfast."
This is the quality of self destruction to which I so passionately subscribe. The id is a powerful force, and succumbing to it makes for better stories, and all I really want is a good story to tell.
I'm imagining:
ReplyDelete1. Reading this without knowing what body wrote it
2. Whether the tone of blog posts can be used to measure the author's weight.
Actually, screw the layers. I just want cake.
Big ol' picture of my fat self directly to the right of the post. Just saying.
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