I forget to write.
I do remember to do other things, like practice my tap dancing routines and grease the fire batons.
Tonight I’m sitting in my apartment with an ice pack on my back and a pill as big as a muskrat stuck in my esophagus. It’s obviously slow release. I expect it to make it all the way down my throat by next Tuesday.
I’m not injured. I’m just quirky.
I’m trying to live a healthier lifestyle these days, thus the ice pack and mammal-sized vitamin. I don’t know why I’m even trying, honestly. It’s not like if I don’t eat pie I will live for all eternity.
Now that I think of it, why in the name of fresh Hell am I denying myself anything? Whether I eat frosting straight from the container for breakfast, or I choke down a handful of vitamins and two runny eggs, the outcome will still be that I eventually stop sucking air.
The question is, will I die in a really grumpy mood brought on by lack of frosting? Or will I go with chocolate all over my mouth and a big smile?
Somebody bring me a spoon.