So what I've realized lately, during this last round of notsleeping, is that what I am is fortune cookie fortunes. Some people, you know, are sweeping epic novels and some people are books with pink martini glass covers, and some people are graffiti tags. But I? Might just be fortune cookie fortunes. And maybe I'm ok with that.
This is possibly why I've been hoarding the things all of these years. Perhaps I've been gathering my own kind, creating a portable little family.
In the end this is all speculation, anyway.
There is a reason that I have been so worried about my grandma. The thing is that my birthday is in a month, and although you may roll your eyes at me, it is an undeniable fact that last year at birthday time my other grandmother tried to kill herself. I am not superstitious about many things, but I feel that the unlucky nature of my birthday has proven itself over the years. And so I am fretting.
I have found that whenever I'm telling a story that happened while Jesse and I were roommates, the story is made infinitely better by adding the phrase, "I was living with a magician at the time."
I emailed my exboyfriend this afternoon to ask him if he would like me to bring him back a mail order bride from China. I'm thinking of getting into the trade, or anyway that's what I'm now telling people when they ask me why I'm going to China--to become a mail order bride. "I'm a bit less submissive and considerably more foul-mouthed than the average, but I'd like to give it a shot anyway."
He hasn't answered yet, but I'm betting on a yes.
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