Some days I wonder (as you do) if I’ll hear a knock at the door and open it to see Ed McMahon or Pat Sajak or god help me, the Kutch standing there with a bunch of cameras, and whoever it is, be they undead or plasticized or puppy dog-eyed, they’ll say, “You thought you had ulcerative colitis, but it was actually a worldwide concerted effort to give you laxatives every so often!”
And then hopefully they will give me a big check and go away.
I probably should never watch The Truman Show again. That’s an actual mental disorder, isn’t it? I mean, something more specific than paranoia?
Bleh. Obviously, I’m still waiting on the weebling to stop wobbling. Soon, hopefully.