Twenty-Six

I’ve been doing this for eleven years.

I know this. I have a folder for every time a new term in my life started.

But I’m getting tired. Tired of everything.

My English teacher told me never to start a sentence with “but”, but here I am. A self-described writer. I haven’t written anything in over a year. The last thing I did was a half-baked idea with a quarter-baked execution.

I am still tired, and lonely, and sad, and broke. Let’s break it down.

Twenty-Five

Iris is coming to town.
Well, Town.

And I can’t help by say that I am excited.

Two well-meaning clinically depressed people trying to make the world a better place for themselves and a partner.

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It will be fun.

Either we get married, or I kill myself.

Well, an ego-death of sorts. I am not risking my life for anyone else again.

Similarly, I am going on a type of sabbatical. Basically a