a day sans pit-of-dread-o-meter is like a day without a pit of dread in your stomach

So, it only took about two weeks but I have sort of pulled my shit together. Not emotionally, obviuosly, that’s still going to be a treacherous sea of bullshit, but that I can handle as long as I have somewhere to deal with it, and that somewhere is also where most of my stuff is. The first good fortune was my landing a two-week sublet in what is basically a glorified closet down the street from my old crack-house digs on S. 2nd in Williamsburg. I am obviously excited to be there if only for the dozens of disaffected-youth-hipster eyecandy guys to help take my mind off the disaffected-youth-hipster eyecandy that broke my heart. Speaking of which, yesterday we had to see each other for the first time since we split, to cleave our "family" cell phone plan in twain. Luckily for the awkwardness of the situation, the people at the cell-phone stores (yes, plural, we were sent to two) were such unhelpful and downright mean pains in the asses that the ex and I were able to bond over our shared plight. Now I won’t name the company because I care about companies and their images, but it rhymes with "Stingular." Just a warning: unless you want to be sent on a Kafkan epic saga around town and yelled at by caustic WASPy women for no reason at all, do not get a "Stingular" family plan because then you will inevitably break up and have to cleave it in twain and they will be pains in the asses. In the meantime, the venerable L fiction contest is still going on, and I urge you to enter it if you live in the NY area, write short fiction, and are a good-looking dissafected-youth guy (just kidding about the last part, I am very professional. Ha ha).

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