After I stood half-naked in front of my closet for a good ten minutes this morning and couldn't decide what to wear, I turned to my CD rack to try to decide what new music I wanted to listen to on the way to work (thinking, "Hey, maybe making one decision -- any decision -- will get me started"). I plucked out Rob Zombie's Hellbilly Deluxe. Then I went back to staring at my closet, attempting to make a suitable clothing option appear out of thin air.
I gave up on "suitable" and went for clean instead, and then I began the daily commute. Where I slipped the aforementioned Rob Zombie in, and suddenly life became far too clear for a Friday morning. "Living Dead Girl" is really not a song you want to identify with. After listening to it several times, I switched gears, switched lanes, and put on some Bob. Because after anger comes acceptance. Or is this denial?
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