Life is good.
Life is good.
Life is good.
I'm standing in the "Life is Good" section of the card store when my phone beeps. I flip it open to read the text message from my sister:
Hoss was sobbing when I left just now that he wants to go home. This seriously sucks.
My sister and I, we've laughed at every funeral we have ever attended. I have no doubt that if one of us were in the psychiatric hospital, the other would be making completely inappropriate jokes and we would both be laughing.
I can't think of a way to make her laugh right now.
I'm looking for cards for my nephew. I can't believe how specialized the card selection is, and I even take a picture of the guide tabs for "Menopause," "Divorce Announcement," and "Stay in School," all on the same rack.
Yeah, it's not that funny.
At the bookstore, I'm looking for Spongebob comics. When I check out, I do consider that I'm screwing with their "customers who like this" statistics. People who bought Understanding the Mind of Your Bipolar Child also bought Pro Cycling.
They also bought a hidden picture book, in hopes that it will distract the eight year old in the hospital, and a Bill Bryson book, because he's funny as hell, and maybe that will help the adult remember that life can be good.
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