Don't Want To Get Tipsy And Break

He Stares At Me, And Then Leans Back In His Chair. "he's Ill, Jacob." I Say Nothing. "he's A Paragon Schnitzophonic." "he's What?!" "paragon Schnitzophonic," Repeats Uncle Al. "you Mean Paranoid Schizophrenic?" "sure. Whatever. But The Bottom Line Is He's Mad As A Hatter.

When Two People Are Meant To Be Together, They Will Be Together. It's Fate.

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

All Right. Let's Give You Something To Tell Your Grandkids About. Or Great-grandkids. Or Great-great-grandkids." I Snort With Glee, Delirious With Excitement. Charlie Winks And Pours Me Another Finger's Worth Of Whiskey. Then, On Second Thought, He Tips The Bottle Again. I Reach Out And Grab Its Neck. "better Not," I Say. "don't Want To Get Tipsy And Break A Hip.

I Used To Think I Preferred Getting Old To The Alternative, But Now I'm Not Sure. Sometimes The Momotony Of Bingo And Sing-alongs And Ancient Dusty People Parked In The Hallway In Wheelchairs Makes Me Long For Death. Particularly When I Rememver That I'm One Of The Ancient Dusty People, Filed Away Like Some Worthless Tchotchke.