He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
the hell it is
Decided to be sociable the other night with some of my work folks and attend a fundraiser for my library at Chipotle, that smug bastion of fast food Tex-Mex for young urban hipsters. Well, that was a huge fucking mistake. I’d wager a bet that those folks who’ve contracted E.coli whilst eating their overpriced burritos fared better than I did that night, all things considered. I’d have gladly traded gastro-intestinal distress for the psychological distress I suffered that evening. There’s a reason I don’t go out in public anymore– too many painful reminders as to how my social inadequacies have ruined damn near every opportunity I’ve ever had for true happiness. And that kind of failure is unabashedly soul crushing.
P.S.- Two dollars for a ketchup-sized cup of guacamole? And since when is Dos Equis a “Premium Beer?” Fuck you, Chipotle.