I've Got a Joke

See? What did I tell you?

Sorry, I'll try to be better. It's been a crazy week. Or two weeks. I don't even know anymore.

My mom is sick, and it's gotten me thinking a lot about life and death. Where do we go when we die? The stomach, yes, but what after that? Yes, I know what after that, but I mean for the soul? Does a sandwich have a soul? I don't know, but let me ask you this: If a sandwich didn't have a soul, could a sandwich have a journal?

Which came first, the soul or the journal? Or even better: which came first, the chicken-salad sandwich or the egg-salad sandwich.

It's corny, but I love that joke ;)
sts

Um...Hi?

My therapist recommended having someplace that I could record my thoughts. Something just for me, a refuge. So...is this going to work? Who knows. I've tried to keep journals in the past and it's never worked, so I can't say that I have a lot of faith in this. But he really seems to think it's a good idea (my therapist is a he. For the sake of this let's just call him Jack B.)

I guess eventually maybe I'll get the hang of writing in here more often, but for now can I just say that it crapping sucks being a Smoked Turkey Sandwich sometimes, I don't care what anyone says about being the best kind of turkey or the world of topping options. Because guess what, in the end you're still just a goddarn sandwich. Do you want to know what I think about, late at night, when I can't fall asleep? Having legs.

Chew on that.