...he, if asked, would also confess to killing our lord...

I think the problem may be that I don't completely know what "humbled" means. It was a word/concept that I never fully understood. Maybe because I am an immigrant. Maybe because I am dumb.

Melissa is coming tomorrow. I get Melissa tomorrow. The Meliss-inator. Tomorrow. In the city.

I also get Spring Rolls.

She told me in an email the other day that she's sorry she isn't a fortune teller and that she doesn't have magical powers. I think she said that so that I don't build her up in a "Melissa can fix everything" sense. But what she doesn't know is that she does have magical powers, and she can fix everything, just by being herself, who is the sweetest of selfs, and makes my day so much brighter with her wacky emails that attempt (unsuccessfully) to convince me she isn't snorting cocaine. And then she called me a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles (which, truly, I am) and so my day was made.

Speaking of days being made, I had a shitty day at work and the boss man doesn't like me, I don't think. Or at least doesn't trust or respect me, which amounts to the same thing in an environment where I have been trying to distinguish myself for so long. BUT the Zen-Buddhist Brahmin god-0'-mine made me happy by showing me a postcard that he had once recieved from Patrick Stewart (THE Patrick Stewart).

Then he punched my cheek. Not really, but you know. The joke punch. Like you do to a five year old, chuck-under-the-chin, like that. Like a five year old.