of a robust whine
Join me, please, in some unhinged whining. Let’s rant. Let’s rave. Let’s bemoan things.
Because when the lining of your stomach is bruised by the high-octane shock of French-pressed caffeine and when you’re suddenly fluent in Morse code, alternating sentences on the screen with theatrical sighs, even though no one is watching you write, and when you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the dirty dishes in the sink and when you discover a debilitating tic in your left eyelid…
sigh. sentence. sigh. sigh. sentence. sigh sigh sigh.
…a good whine is the second most gratifying thing there is.
(The first, of course, is chocolate, but the pantry can’t always be trusted to produce a bar on command. Still working out the kinks on that one.)