The needle is my salvation. The only way I’ll know for sure. The only semblance of order in a chaotic whirlwind where one man fights to hold onto the last thin blade of sanity to keep from falling off the face of the Earth. Continue reading
Over the summer of 2003, which ranks overall as the third-worst summer of my life, there was a lone, shining bright spot: Kim, a wine-guzzling cougar who doubled as my Biopsychology professor and moonlighted as a regular bar patron at my tavern.
The text of choice for her class: a book called “Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers,” an entertaining script that analyzed in humorous yet comprehensive clarity the relationship between stress, inflammation and mental health. Continue reading