I entertain myself, at least.

Writing a letter to my best friend tonight, this is how it started:

“Dear Dr. Love,
I started with this long email giving you the back story before I posed a question.
And then I realized it was like beating a dead horse.
So I started it again.
And I was beating another dead horse.
I am a dead horse beater.

Five times, I started this email, and now there are five dead horses on my bedroom floor. It isn’t the elephant in the room I worry about- it’s the smell of decaying horse flesh.”

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