All the things I do instead of writing…
Recently, I have been late for absolutely everything, except of course work. I love that about myself - hopelessly unable to do things I actually want to do, but turn up on that 14th floor like a metronome to work in a job I hate. How stupid. Letting down people I care about, not doing... Continue Reading →
Maybe I'm taking a silly movie too seriously, but about halfway through Black Swan I thought I must've somehow not only travelled back in time to 1962, but into some sort of parallel universe in which all a fragile woman really needs is a good rogering by some aggressive svengali twice her age. Add the... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 