Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest.
Thus we never live, but we hope to live; and always disposing ourselves to be happy.
My wife is schizophrenic. She’s mostly functional, but she’s crazy.
I always feel like someday things are going to get better, even though they never do.
Does that make me an optimist?
My boy is doing a school report on Patrick Henry. Something I didn’t know about Patrick Henry is that his wife went insane in 1771 and was subsequently kept in a straitjacket in the basement of the family home.
My neighbors just put one of those Children at Play signs in the street in front of their house.
These are for parents who don’t want to be bothered with actually watching their kids to make sure that they’re not playing in the roadway.
I’d like to take the damn sign and beat them over the head with it . . .
I buy my first pair of reading glasses. My wife almost weeps when she sees them.
“You’re getting old,” she says.
I can’t figure out why it’s so hard to get my kid to take a shower every night. We ask him to take a shower, he leaves the room like he’s going to do it, but he doesn’t do it.
