So Thirsty

by Rachel Harrison

I don’t know where all my missing socks go, but wherever they are, I hope they’re happy.

There’s no cure for getting older, no solution for the harsh seep of time, save for maybe an attitude adjustment, a positive outlook, which I’m incapable of. Best I can do is acquiesce.

Someday I’ll be dead in a bin and none of this will matter. This sudden grimness provides a nebulous sense of relief, like tonguing a sore in the mouth.

Besides, anticipating the worst-case scenario doesn’t prepare you for the worst-case scenario. Just gives you the opportunity to be smug in the face of disaster.

I never noticed or cared how old people were until suddenly everyone was younger than me.

He tells us, with regret, that we do not turn into bats.

I’m tempted to ask if we can put on my Chernobyl podcast, just to hear about other people having an exceptionally bad time, but I know she’ll veto

Surprisingly, I’m more upset that she’d bring up the Dyson than that she’d bring up Joel. I knew I never should have told her how much I love that vacuum.