I’m sad tonight. Sometimes I forget that I have readers. I get sad and think instinctively, “I should write about that” but then get trapped thinking there is no funny way to say something and what a
shitty downer post that’d be to read.
Sometimes there just isn’t any wit. Sometimes I’m just sad or tired or hurting or sick or irrationally emotional.
And that’s okay. I need to write more even though sometimes it looks and fees like someone is listening. And like sometimes my life isn’t perfect.
You are all now my imaginary friends.
I shall call you Gumbo. Gumbo, my imaginary friend.