Went to lunch at Chang’s Mongolian Grill with Wendi, and the title of this entry is what the fortune cookie I received had to say.

Hell, it’s not even funny with the “in bed” addendum.

So the current estimates range from three months to a full year before I regain some semblance of stability and sanity (okay, enough with the annoying alliteration already) after moving away from the only real family I’ve ever known. Of course, once you start getting depressed over one thing, all of your other depressive triggers start to fire… Unworthy, Incapable, Clumsy, Inadequate, Pathetic, Irresponsible and Ugly. Yeah, those are the Seven Dwarves of my negative ego. Gnarly old buggers.

So, what do I have going for me? Friends who refuse to let me beat up on myself. If that many people care so much, maybe I’m not such a bad person after all.

Right? Right.

To wrap this up on an appropriately positive note, on the way to Chang’s we saw something cute: A pickup with black lettering across the tailgate spelling out, “Clifford The Big Red Dodge.”

Hey, I thought it was funny…