Come in Orson.
Another day. Another batch of bad news. Another occasion of crushing reality meets almighty despair.
The bad news I feared was in the post duly arrived today and I can’t say I’m surprised. Luckily I was on my own when the dreaded news dropped and when I say lucky, it just means it fell on the alternate day when my son isn’t with me. So I was able to have a panic attack, scream, cry and make plans for my quickening demise from this mortal coil all on my own.
The problem is I don’t have the brass balls to do what that comedic wizard did all those years ago, or even my literary hero Hunter S Thompson years before him, and I can state with 100% certainty that Johnny Depp won’t be firing my ashes skyward on a rocket to explode across the earth anytime soon or indeed in the future.
I’ll just continue looking skyward, hoping against hope that the stars come and collect me soon.
So limbo or, if you prefer, purgatory, it remains for this particular unreliable narrator, and I remain, faithfully, alone with everybody.
Nanu Nanu.
Thanks for reading. For far less serious fare from the bread and circus of life, please see the cave of wonderous delights that is my collected library here or alternatively, here are my three most recently published and future Pulitzer Prize winning articles:
“Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022)
Worth every minute. Across every universe.medium.com
Facebook censorship and the curious case of John McAfee
A short story from beyond the pale.medium.com
That was the week that wasn’t
A letter to a friend.medium.com