My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Fuck November. Just when I thought November had worked her worst anniversary because my brother died, for fuck's sake, on November 26th, I learned via the magic of the internet, that Abby, one of my oldest friends died today. November 30th. I went for a long walk in my hood, stopping to sob under trees and by fences and near barking dogs. If someone walked toward me, I crossed the street. I had a wad of wet toilet paper for a companion. Abby was a midwife like me and I've known her since I was 18, a fucking long time ago. And she was twisted. And the stories live in us and now I can't retell them with her.

She was supposed to tell me before she died that she was fixing to die. I wasn't supposed to hear about it on the internet.

Fuck November. Next year, I not doing November. It's cancelled.