I Am Going To The Bad Place,

Just Think, The Shoes I Wouldn’t Be Caught Dead In Might Actually Turn Out To Be The Shoes I Am Caught Dead In.

I Have So Little Control Over The Act Of Writing That It's All I Can Do To Remain Conscious.

I Find Life Itself Provides Ample And Sufficient Tests Of My Valor And Mettle: Illness; Betrayal; Fruitless Searches For Love; Working For The Abusive, The Insane, And The Despotic. All Challenges Easily As Thrilling To Me As Scrambling Over Icy Rock In A Pair Of Barely Adequate Boots.

Unfortunately, There's No Greater Rhyme Or Reason As To Why It Would Be Me. And Since There Is No Answer As To Why Me, It's Not A Question I Feel Really Entitled To Ask.

If Psychoanalysis Was Late 19th Century Secular Judaism’s Way Of Finding Spiritual Meaning In A Post-religious World, And Retail Is The Late 20th Century’s Way Of Finding Spiritual Meaning In A Post-religious World, What Does It Mean That I’m Impersonating The Father Of Psychoanalysis In A Store Window To Commemorate A Religious Holiday?