The data is in and the verdict is obvious: I am the worst and I suck at life. Don’t even try to argue with me and or convince me that maybe I am only the second worst. I am the worst. Consider the evidence: My flight from Iceland to Paris? I booked that the wrong…
It wasn’t supposed to happen. I did everything I could to avoid it. I generously budgeted the precious commodity–time–to have plenty of it to spend with friends grabbing a last beer, or final coffee, a closing conversation, a definitive night of debauchery etc., where we could all sigh nostalgically and offer mutual allowences of how…
