Good morning, Effers. I’m writing to you from SlightHandicapville, as apparently my fragile state has now embed itself into my body.
I stretched my arms up yesterday morning and ended up sitting in an upright position, wincing at every breath, while I watched The Real L Word…all day….aaaaaall daaaay. I am proud to report that I can now move my shoulder in slight degrees but unfortunately my shoulder doesn’t need to pivot to look for oncoming cars- so this morning was interesting.
But what I really want to write to you about, shortly as typing seems to be annoying to my suddenly needy neck, is how my fridge seems in the right spot for my life. Other aspects of it are crumbling to depressing little bits of darkness but my fridge, oh the fridge, is living like the successful 25 year old, that owns it, should be.
It has bottles of champagne, frosted bottles of Skinny Girl, a pitcher of sweet tea, deli meats decadently sliced, juicy peaches, bevy of cookies, and more. It looked so happy this morning as I crouched like Igor to grab some bread for toast. I was jealous…I was jealous of him/her.
But it was inspiring. I hope to be my like fridge someday.
Also…yesterday I ate a whole package of graham crackers. I’m not proud.