I have always liked phone books, but no one makes them any more. They were like bare graveyards
where each tombstone provided the necessary facts of life, only in their case, they were supposedly
about the living. I remember trying to convince myself that everyone there was waiting for me, even
if they were not, which was a fact of life of a sort, but I still tried to find an excuse for being naive.
I thought: if the world around me does not exist for me, what is the point? It hurt, but I kept telling
myself that it was going to be easier when I grew up. Now I am grown up, and it hurts even more.
And on that note, it is time for dinner. Like it or not, the body needs fuel more than anything else.
This is the ultimate fact of life.
hidden pilcrow 