Emily Dickinson Is Sick Of Your Shit
There's a wonderful cartoon by James Thurber I am not sure I can use without getting sued. In it, a woman is happily picking flowers while a friend explains, "She has that true Emily Dickinson spirit except that she gets fed up occasionally."
You know you've been there. You try to be beatific and kind and sometimes your heart and mind wander elsewhere and all you really want to do is clip somebody in the eggs with a hockey stick. Okay, maybe that's just me.
This page has links to essays. Some of them are rants and others are just slices of life. It's not that I think my life is particularly interesting so much as I'm sure other people have similar thoughts. Maybe this is my way of saying, "See? You're not as maladjusted as you think."
Or maybe I am and so are you.
Maybe we're all weirdos and we're in what we initially thought was just a proverbial hand basket. If that's the case, I am happy to be in good company. I'll bring a boombox and the Doritos. It'll be a party.