My alarm goes off at 5:50 a.m. First thing I do is check to make sure I’m not dead. If I am, in fact, still alive, I usually sob uncontrollably until there’s nothing left in my tear ducts but salt dust, then grope blindly through my apartment to the bathroom, where I say a little prayer for a hole to open beneath my building and swallow us all. First of all: same. Second: you must read this collection. Second–and-a-half: by read I mean listen. Samantha […]
yes, but…maybe she’ll make an exception and WE can meet?
We Are Never Meeting in Real Life by Samantha Irby
