My New Roommate
I'm happy to report that after months of being lulled to sleep by the living, breathing thing that was my noisy, less-than-effective refrigerator, I now have a functional icebox which is whisper quiet and, comically enough, only four feet tall.
Of course this means I now lie awake, staring at the ceiling all night, feeling lonely as I ponder the solitary, hopeless, brain wracking, void-of-meaning, pitiful journey that is my life.
(Yes, yes, I know. You wonder why would I exaggerate my plight by using such superfluous language. It's probably more appropriate to substitute "tortuous, death-march" for the dramatic "journey." I was weak. It won't happen again.)
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