I’ve never liked the feeling of being in love: I hate the butterflies, the sleepless nights, the hassles. This . . .
This is worse.
If you don’t hear anything from me for about a week don’t worry too much. If it lasts past next Thursday you better come and make sure I’ve not dehydrated myself by weeping at the kitchen table.
I’m already apoplectic and it’s only the bottom of the first.
I have hope though, the Star Wars lead might be what it takes.
Schilling is a god.