Amy impaired
Things it's really hard to do when you're carrying around a golf-ball-sized sebaceous cyst right where your pants hit your waist: (I was going to link to something from my google search, but Jesus H. Christ, I can't do that to you people, my devoted readers. Don't do it.)
1. Close your pants
2. Walk the dog
3. Sit
4. Bend over to pick up the pill you dropped on the floor this morning
5. Think
6. Think about writing that damn book
7. Sleep
8. Imagine life without this son of a bitch
9. Give a shit about eating right
10. Resist the breakfast bagel
Things it's not so hard to do:
1. Feel guilty about not getting work done. Jesus H. Christ.
2. Play Scrabble online
3. Read a wonderful, wonderful book of autobiographical stories by Jo Ann Beard: The Boys of My Youth
4. Moan and groan and whine and moan and groan and whine, although I gotta say, even that's getting old.
Rest in peace, Clara, you biatch.
posted by aerobil @ 7:21 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
I *love* Boys of My Youth. There was an interesting response to her piece on the shooting in the New Yorker several years ago--it's a good take on the risks of creative non-fiction, and sooo timely, considering recent writers who may have gotten a bit tooooo creative. I'll find it and email it to you.
yes yes. please do.
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