It’s odd that we use the term record yet don’t actually have any records. Part of this could be due to our desire to just copy and transfer, rather than produce anything with real, old school initiative and risk.

I want to have a big ol' family.

I content myself with superhero fantasies, sometimes bleeding into little gestures like this. It’s goofy, but it’s who I am.

Token condescending overexplanation: The phrase “piece of the pie” is an expression that refers to a portion of available success one can attain. Ironically, I actually don’t eat a lot of pie. I like to stay trim.

The aforementioned ambition of getting that “piece of the pie” is what often gets a fly, an insect that seeks to leech off of people’s food, fucked up. The thing is, I’m not even trying to be a parasite like that, but rather make my own lovely material for you to enjoy, yet even my best can go unrewarded.

I try to pass off what I guess are outdated clothes (really a stupid consideration anyway at day’s end) as my wife’s choice of outfits for me. Truth be told, she tries to keep me dapper.

Take it away, Nicholas.

A chance recollection of an exchange her late husband had with her when giving her an anniversary present prompts her to confront that all that she wished she could say to him will never get said, and that fucking sucks. Sometimes that’s the kind of moment people need to experience for the channels to open.

Malta makes good coffee. Gibraltar doesn’t make ashtrays. Just wanted to clear that up. This lady is contemplating her past and why on Earth her psychiatrist would prescribe meds for depression when that doesn’t seem to be the problem for her.

Even though life has obviously changed, she doesn’t know why it hasn’t been more of a challenge, why she hasn’t grappled with the agony of her husband’s death like others do in her situation.