Something
Too hungry to eat, too hungry to NOT eat, too hungry to stand up, and most importantly too hungry to cook.
WHAT IS LIFE? Is life having a bean and cheese burrito delivered to your door? Or is it watching Parks and Recreation all day because you are hungover so you can. Or is life something less defined than even that; than even this delicate morning that we jimmy through the eye of a needle called ‘nondescript Sunday’?
(Yet there is more. There is yet more than the poeticals and hypotheticals I rant about on the regular, and they are the ‘such as’-es. As in, why can’t I find an appropriate wing-man; one who wants to hunt independently yet slap hands across a crowded bar at the acknowledgment that we are talking to girls far more interesting than we find each other?
I met a girl with bright red hair last night. This fun is literally never-ending.)
