I would never attempt to call myself the shining example of what a writer is supposed to be. I hardly even call myself a write.
I had an appointment with Super Therapist today. I spent 45 of our 60 minutes together bitching about work. I hardly ever talk about work
Last week ended on a pretty high note. I closed on the house I’ve been trying to buy despite my “snarky” letter to the needy
Today marks 2 weeks of Flea Market Guy’s sobriety and almost two weeks of us living together. Both have been surprisingly pleasant. I think part
I’m always on a quest to get healthier. I don’t believe in quick weight loss magic and I don’t really believe in fad diets. I’m
I very rarely talk about my day job because I feel like writing is my actual life and if it doesn’t involve writing or reading