9. Is this serotonin reuptake cycle never going to end?
Yes. You will achieve balance at the precise moment when you think your mental noise has diminished to a level just above a rather sinister silence preceding self-destructive behavior in public. Fear not. The moment will pass.
10. Will we ever be able to go back to that restaurant?
Not until our regular waitress retires due to a stress-related injury incurred during the early-bird special rush from 4:00 to 5:00 PM. Thus: soon.
11. What’s with the harsh-edged bitterness? Do you think it becomes you?
Do you think I care whether you think I think it becomes me to express my bitterness via the written word in lieu of, say, lead pipes in the conservatory? And that should count as two questions.
18. Does DOB make sense very often?
No, but she does impart a certain urine-scented je ne’sai quois to any conversation.
19. When pausing mid-sentence in a rambling mumble to search for the missing noun, who becomes more impatient, the speaker or the listeners?
There’s a question for the ages. It would take ages to list all the delightful examples of this phenomenon. However, in a sort of irony typical of the twisted universe I inhabit, one noun that always seems to fit in such instances is “werewolf”. Example:
DOB: Remember the road we used to take rides on? Where not many cars go?
TCG: Hertz Road?
DOB: No! You know, the ride in the old car, that car? The road where there were no other cars, near that place.
TCG: Werewolf Road?
DOB: No! The road near that factory, or whatever it was.
TCG: The American Cyanamid Plant?
DOB: Maybe…. Yes.
TCG: I’m so fucking good at this it’s scary.
WISIMH: Actually, what David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas) said it best: “Sometimes the fluffy bunny of incredulity zooms round the bend so rapidly that the greyhound of language is left, agog, in the starting cage.”