My insomnia and I

are honestly trying to think of the last time a guy, who was not Canadian or Brazilian or rollerblading Russian (aww I almost forgot about him!) and in Vancouver late June through mid-July, asked me for my number, like in a that way kind of way.

Maybe 5 years ago? And even then, I’m probably giving the benefit of the doubt.

My point being: I’m allowed my lingering incredulity.

(And maybe now that I’ve written that down, my insomnia will let me go to sleep so I can deal with an overactive almost 4 yr. old in the morning.)

About J.

A former twentysomething with a head full of curls and heart full of questions wondering: when we get to nirvana, will there be food?
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