In hope I turn my face up to the sky.

Day 5 | Booze-Free | No Snickers or French Fries or Trader Joe’s $2.99 Mac and Cheese

I miss shoveling handfuls of Green Mountain Tortillas into my mouth.

More? I miss my dear friend, the Dirty.

That big beautiful glistening glass of painkiller.

Red-faced pseudo-identity:

Oh, fatty, and it misses you too. Don’t you hear it calling you?

G-i-n-n-y… Gin, Gin, G-i-n-n-y…

I stick the heel of my thumb in my eye to quell the jab of the prongs. He’s at my vitreous humor again. Fuck off, prick.

Yet there’s an affirmation.

A crumb of truth confirmed from an objective party.

Within minutes of sending the-Dear-Dean-Curtis-Please-Help-Me email, I heard back from the Director of Winthrop’s MBA Career Development Center. I met with her just now. She didn’t possess the demeanor of Mother Mary Stigmata—like I expected—she’s approachable, wise, even-tempered. Human. My resume lay there on the meeting table, a white rectangle smudged with typeface amid a considerably larger circular surface, just like the rejection letter did so many years ago.

We shook hands, sat down and she looked me straight in the eye and said, “you’re a fighter; you’ve made lemonade out lemons.”

Shit and there goes the water works.

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