Epilogues Are Only Depressing If The Book Ends

I’ve had more suckage this week but I just couldn’t write about it lest my blog win MOST DEPRESSING BLOG OF THE YEAR.  BLOG THAT INSPIRED THREE READERS TO WRITE POEMS WITH ABYSS, DARKNESS, AND VOID IN THE TITLE.  BLOG OF DESPAIR.  BLOGGING WITH INTEGRITY… AND DEATH.

So I shall instead unveil another EPILOGUE. (you’re welcome Aunt K)

Do you remember HUMBLE PITA? The 20-year-old guy who was NOT asking me to go dancing downtown? We went back to the Pita Palace. And VIOLA:

I only have eyes for the high chair, sweetie. And the falafel.

Remember my tweet concerning my hope of an early death?  It was to avoid my ten year college reunion!  Which turned out to be awesome. Except it began Friday night, and by Saturday, I fell asleep at 5pm, woke up an hour later and went back to sleep at 10pm without seeing my friends.  I’M THE OLD LADY WITH KIDS.

And of course you are DYING TO KNOW if the first awkward errand paid off.  IT DID! NO SWIMMERS! So only one more chance to embarrass the receptionist… I’d consider some accidental spillage but I think that we’d have to bring a third sample. And I’m running out of synonyms.

Oh and I sent a Twitter DM to PBS with Punk Rock Barney. No response.. SO FAR! In the meantime, I was sent Emo Nemo thanks to Story Lady and her daughter’s mispronunciation of Nemo. (Good luck with the future angst.) And then I was sent this picture by Jess.

Are you reading my blog, Disney/Pixar? Because you clearly should be. We are geniuses.

Oh and I ADORED the poems about my butt. Here, here and here. Oh yeah and here. And my butt stopped itching. Poetry is AMAZING that way.

And although this isn’t epilogue-y, I just want you to know that the comments and emails about my crisis of religion and our dog (which is God spelled backwards — the Church of Late Enough is coming together nicely), mean so much to me. I haven’t been able to respond to everyone, but I am beyond grateful. I’m just also happen to need sleep. (I know. I hate it, too.) Group hug? What about a handshake? High-five? Why are you walking away? HEY. Don’t go! Because I learned a new trick from @ave42designs that I am about to share with you to say thank you. FIST BUMP!

Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna went from a B.A. in philosophy to an M.D. to a SAHM, poet and writer by 30. She spends most of her writing time on LateEnough.com, a humor blog (except when it's serious) about her husband fighting zombies, awkward attempts at friendship, and dancing like everyone is watching. She also has a soft spot for culture, politics, and rude Southern people who offend her Yankee sensibilities. She parents 2 elementary-aged children, 1 foster baby, 3 cats, and 1 puppy, who are all Southern but not rude. Yet.

17 thoughts on “Epilogues Are Only Depressing If The Book Ends

  1. Oh. My. God. I am going to be the most popular person at the bus stop tomorrow morning with that snailbump. And also, I totally used to have a tee shirt with a snail riding on a turtle’s back. Actually, I probably still have it but it’s like the size of one of my boobs, and you would probably like more of me to be covered.

    Also also: you are totally cute! Loving the vlog.

  2. Well I don’t think you will win any awards for joke telling but you just might for being so delightful 🙂 Your daughter I think is starting to look just like you.

  3. Hahahahaha!! Our friend Sarah taught us those, which she learned from her freshman students. Along with the octopus, the moose, the snowman, the turkey, the jellyfish, the clam, and the gearshift. Kids were NOT this cool when I was a freshman in high school. Be careful with the snail… bad things happen if you and Scott go in for the snail at the same time *ahem*

  4. Suckage sucks! Yes, can you tell I’m also sleep deprived? Bad week for me too. Here’s to hoping that this hump day will rock us both quickly into the weekend and out of this funkage.

    Peace out. And Snail!

  5. I have to say, I was very confused about what was going to happen in the vlog because where it’s started, it looks like you’re naked. Clearly, once it begins, you can see that you are sporting an adorable strapless sundress that is wholly appropriate for snail fistbumping. I just wasn’t sure if perhaps your underwear disorder had taken a turn for the worse…

  6. First of all, don’t stop being emotional on my account – if you force me to turn to terribly angsty poetry I might one day meet my life goal of writing like Sylvia Plath. I mean, I don’t think that’s actually a life goal. I’m pretty sure to write like her I’d have to have serious psychological and emotional problems tearing my soul apart. But maybe angsty-ness would give me her level of skill in poetry, which I could then apply toward brilliant poetry about my love of groundhogs and Cheez-Its.
    Second, I could almost cry at the thought that nobody tries to fist bump me, and I might not have an opportunity to snail them, because that’s the kind of thing that could make me laugh for a half-hour.
    Seriously.
    And I’m telling everyone I know that joke.
    So thank you.

  7. Funny, we’re having the same kind of week. I also keep feeling that I can only write depressing posts…

    Thanks for the updates! Good idea for you to do that. Hope you have a better week

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