wildcat

Well, it's two in the afternoon and what have I accomplished? A big fat zip-zero. I successfully cooked and fed myself. Wow, I'm a credit to my species. I have, yes, successfully mastered the art of boiling noodles. I have not, in the hours since I grimaced at the world and pulled myself out of bed, engineered dalmatian mice or won a tennis match or written ten hit plays. I haven't faked a terminal illness today.

Fucking Tenenbaums.

I'm going to put on pants now, and I'm going to collect my things and wander out to acquire other food that other people make for me (because I'm taxed or something) while I sit around scribbling poems before I find a bus to take me to the Outlands to work for four hours.

God, I feel like Eli Cash today. It's all going to be press conferences and people questioning me about my failure of a first novel and me getting up and walking out of interviews for no reason.