After a lengthy telephone call with HealthPartners about my medical bills, a visit with a banker at my bank, and opening my mourning mail (you spell it your way - I'll spell it mine,) it's become apparent that I am officially and unequivocally bankrupt.
I can no longer afford to date: no more women.
I can no longer afford to drink: no more beer / brandy.
I can no longer afford friendship.
On January 7, 2011 Mark R. Trost became:
a celibate, teetotaling, hermit.
My writing is going to suck.