The damn lime . . why not lemon, artificial lime is just awful. Who determines these things? I understand the orange and strawberry but did the Push-Up executive board seriously choose lime over lemon just for color? My mental states wafers and I wonder . . . am I awake right now? Discerning the difference between reality and fantasy has never been more difficult. Some of that due to a bit of clamshell fever, some due to genuine heartache and some due to a cloak of professional disappointments. Perhaps the most pinnacle element of delusion is that which my entire Los Angeles existence has centered around: my legal battle with my old business partner. That wishful day of retribution approaches and with it the nauseating pains of all that humanity fails by way of selfishness, greed and anger. The shake down is June; two years have passed and I’m still standing so two months should be a drop in the bucket . . . but then again, when has anything in my life every gone the easy way.
Sister Mary Cleo is packing up her house, her two dogs (one miniature pincher that’s so fat it can’t jump onto the couch & the other a territorial Moguai pound puppy), a near to dead cat, the trio of rambunctious children and of course – the husband. It is, was, will be most convivial if I move home as I love these dear children as if they were my own but . . . I have denied myself personal happiness for so long. Much longer than 2 years. In fact, it was two businesses ago and so I shall step forth in pursuing another bat at a business and maybe, just maybe . . . find someone to share matching rings.
I’ve been baking all day,