Spent all my quarters on laundry and skee ball.
Days off had been scarce.
I’m happy to set the bar low.
Opening presents isn't always a pleasurable experience.
Another December and another parentally hosted holiday party complete with the traditional pre-party screaming match and subsequent meltdown.
Completely relaxed, I settle into the couch, unwilling to walk the fifteen feet to the bed or clean up the Funyun pile perched on my stomach.
Chasing that paper would be an overstatement—any forward momentum was exhausted years ago.
It’s something that just happens, like a baby or a gambling addiction.
Immediate frustration (1) festers as the bar doors slam shut.