Working backwards, my present situation can ultimately be traced back to the decision almost eight years ago to eat a whole, raw onion in front of the Governor during her Easter morning address. If only I’d chosen a less abrasive vegetable or turned my head when biting down, perhaps things would’ve turned out differently. Perhaps if I had decided to go around in public offering the whole onion (and others like it) to strangers instead of eating it myself, perhaps I’d be on the right end of a MacArthur fellowship and not trudging through this enormous parking lot with two, overstuffed filing cabinets attached to my legs.
Perhaps.
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