Oct 20, 2011: Rejection & Rapture Taste Like This

Rejection tastes like burnt hair smells. But, if you can overcome the fear, it's not quite as painful as an epidural.

Woops! My bad!

Rapture tastes like the jubilee of Jiminy Cricket. The other kind of rapture (the one that was rescheduled by Harold Camping to tomorrow) probably tastes like sand and burned barbecued chicken drumsticks.

My friend, Nicole, and I had a brief IM conversation today. I pinged her to say goodbye in case one of us gets left behind tomorrow, or our luggage gets lost in hell or we take the wrong train, etc. I mean, that's pretty much a definition of hell.

Maybe hell is where you're on a tarmac in Phoenix in August for eight hours, fantasizing about take-off with a screaming kid kicking the back of your un-reclined seat. I digress. Nicole said she's eating Chinese food for dinner. An interesting choice for a last meal before flowing down the River Styx. I think I'll spend tonight renewing my subscription to Cat Fancy and eating my emotions with a combination of sodium and carbs. My hope for you is less rejection, and more rapture. The Jiminy Cricket kind.