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Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of April 1, 2018
• On the first of the month, I engage in that superstitions tradition of saying “rabbit, rabbit” when I first wake up, before I say anything else. When one does this, one is resigned to have good luck throughout that month. On Sunday, April 1, 2018, the first thing I said was not, “rabbit, rabbit.” I said, “Fuckinggoddammit, Harry! What is your fucking deal? I just changed you. You just ate. Is it gas? Do you have to fart? Jesus fucking Christ, calm down, please!” As a result, I’m gravely concerned over what my luck will be like this month.
He Was Born Of A Non-Virgin Non-Mary
He was born of a non-virgin non-Mary.
He was born a month prematurely, disrupting his mother’s plans for a large feast of Italian beef sandwiches, dipped, with all the fixings.
Born Angry
Some family stories get repeated over and over, become the stuff of legends. One such story is about when my mother was pregnant with me, and, from inside the womb, I was kicking so hard that I kicked the newspaper she was reading off her lap. Writing this now, I wonder if it was possible that the news was making me mad even then.