So when not in a shower-bath, I spent the weekend lolling (in its archaic definition) around in bed, on the couch, and occasionally on the loveseat having mental situations on various social media sites hoping someone would contact me. I fantasized about running through a crowd and off a balcony like the broad in my news feed recently. I hadn't the cover charge it would cost me to gain entrance into anywhere with a balcony, though. Also, I hate crowds. Why would I want to spend my last moments of life running through one? Running is not a hobby of mine for that matter. Furthermore, would I have a cocktail before I did this? That would cost money too, and it would mean relapsing. I wasn't sure of the protocol on relapsing before death. I suspect I'd lose all respect not already lost from leaping off a building.
Finally, I called up my dad and went to breakfast with him to remind myself that I was loved. Over my Sante Fe skillet he was outraged by the proportions and inclusion of bell peppers of/in, we discussed my brother's upcoming (possibly) wedding. "I'll be there," he said. "Your mom, your sister, the kids, and you - I guess." I stuffed red potatoes in my face wondering if he had meant to say he guessed the whole family would be there or just me orrr? Oh well. I was enjoying iced cappucinno and his company. I would not throw myself off a balcony this weekend.
