The problem with pressing your face all day into that little thingy – something they certainly don’t tell you in the fine print – is that it rots out your neck and back. Trust me, you will have a hump of fused vertebrae like a 90-year-old by the time you’re 40. Then even if you wanted to, you won’t be able to look up at the stars. You’ve heard of them, right? Not those. Put that thing away! I’m talking about up there… those. The ones that are out just before dawn. The ones that say, hey, buddy, I’m with you at this lonely hour. Not to worry, I’ve got your back. Because, heh, I know just a little something about time…like how I was born before you were just lunch meat molecules, fermenting in some dino’s colon. Like how I sent you this greeting before your grandma made googly eyes at your grandpop behind the shed.

What’s that? Sigh. You may now resume ruining your back.

Copyright © 2015, Ilana Hulsey Rea. All rights reserved.

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