Flash Epistle Number Nineteen
I know that these are desperate times and life can seem both frightening and meaningless, simultaneously. But take heart, little grasshoppers, if you don’t get run over by a train, there can be light at the end of that proverbial tunnel. As the parrots like to point out, there is always hope, and hope is a feathered thing that you don’t necessarily have to blast out of the sky with a twelve gauge shotgun.
Trust me. I know.
We should all strive for self improvement, to become better versions of ourselves every day in every way. It says so right on Medium, endlessly.
I know I have.
Why, back in my callow youth, when I was more comfortable with the world, certain questionable habits directed me through each day,
I would rise, drink a pot of coffee, smoke most of a pack of cigarettes, and have a toke or two just to wake up, such was my resistance to consciousness. I would then navigate the perils of the day with a continuous, light buzz of marijuana and alcohol. To sleep, I would finish hard with a blast of bourbon, pot, and whatever artificial downers I had at hand. Say what you will, this regimen worked for decades.
The drugs and alcohol that blunted my days were necessary because, like most non-wealthy mortals, I had to make a dishonest living. Obviously, our…
