DOSES

Two doses will be administered twenty-eight days apart. Three doses will be administrated the week after that. Four doses will be administered in the morning, followed by six in the afternoon. One dose will be administered near the kitchen table, while birthday presents are being opened.  One dose will be administered just before the school year starts, on a windy autumn morning, hurriedly, with an edge of false sarcasm. One dose will be administered in the car while a commercial for a termite-protection service is playing, while the owner of the company's accent is being roundly mocked. One dose will be administered in the mirror, quickly, while no one else is looking. One dose will be administered conceptually. One dose will be administered asymmetrically. No doses will be administered as a result of coercion. No doses will be administered without a mixture of excitement and relaxation. I am speaking, of course, of love: of parents for children, of children for parents, of spouses for one another, of friends for friends, of readers for books, of singers for songs, of people for themselves, of the clock for time, of effect for cause, of the points of the compass for the space it divides, of everything for everything, and nothing more.

©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas