Just finished my last reading on this mini-tour. I finally caved and got a Kit Kat. I’m crashing. It’s hard not to hate on myself. In fact, the better I do, the more I hate. It’s just an old song, a sad reflex, a folie a deux between me and myself. And it’s not all that bad either, just a familiar old friend showing up when you least need it. No mini bar. MSNBC 24/7. A young woman asked why I went into publishing instead of becoming a writer. Why did I become a bicycle instead of a fish? I have to get out of this dress.
How am I doing?
I need to get out of this dress.
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