The Life and Times of Jess Mac
I think it’s clear that I’m struggling. A lot.
HELLO. I’M ALIVE AND I NEED YOU PLEASE.
Noodles with butter and cheese.
My dad’s beloved dinner. The very thing he chose for his last meal with a stomach.
He found it perfectly delicious. I found it grotesque.
Simple boxed pasta with Costco canned parmesan and Best Yet butter.
Cheap, starchy penne with nauseatingly smelly cheese and too much slimy oil.
For some reason, he loved it. He ate it almost every night, and he craved it after a long day’s work.
Now he can’t have his favorite food without vomiting.
I hate going to psychiatrists. They make me feel worse than I actually am.