Now I know what it feels like to be high maintenance.

I need a plain black, long-sleeved shirt.

I need chicken soup. I need a fresh baguette. I need softened sliced carrots with the slight bitter taste of ginseng. I need fall off the bone chicken, baked in broth, white from cooking.

I need to laugh. I need to sing. I need to shout.

I need to lose myself.

I need.

Double Diamond makes Jeff dehydrated.

I hate the mornings where I wake up and my ring won’t fit over the middle finger of my right hand.