The truth is, I never left you. I’ve just been eating a lot of takeout, because my cookbooks are all packed and I threw my kitchen table away.
See, here are the things:
The end result of this: a stratospheric level of stress, which has caused all my words to dry up like a slug in a salt mine. My back, neck and shoulders are so tense that my head is about to pop off like an overripe cherry tomato and roll down the street, where the neighborhood feral cats will bat it around, pigeons will pick at my lifeless eyeballs and seagulls will shit on my neck stump. It will be very Greek, and very tragic.
By this time next week, I will either be (1) happily unpacking in my sweet-ass new loft; (2) dead; or (3) being held without bail for first-degree attorneycide.
To put it more tersely: Please send good juju.
*Yes, I am aware that I went to law school. But I was never admitted to the bar and have never practiced, so I’m exempt. My bar exam results have now expired, so I couldn’t be a lawyer even if I wanted to be. Which I don’t.
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