I can’t do adult things. I can only imagine that there’s something deeply psychologically wrong with me (my therapist swears this is not the case) or that I am so severely learning disabled that it’s a miracle I function at all.
This morning I found myself in front of the Glendale AAA holding a blue Bagu bag covered with tiny elephants. I was using it as a purse because I couldn’t decide on any of my actual handbags before I was leaving the house so I panicked and put my wallet, cigarettes and expired car registration in a recyclable grocery bag.
It’s about a ninety-degree day in the valley. Sweat was dripping down my back. I was fighting off tears of frustration. I was waiting for my Uber car, a car that I had difficulty ordering because my debit card was turned off for fraud because I failed to report…
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