I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours, trying to think of something interesting to write on my stupid fucking blog. I’ve even called National Grid, paid my estimated taxes for 2012, applied for a personal business identification number, and balanced my checking account to avoid the eventuality of it. That’s the most financially mature I’ve been in my entire life.
The problem is that my life is not that interesting right now. I’m no longer up to my ankles in open sewage, shopping for saris. I’m just sitting at my perfectly appointed desk in Brooklyn, looking out my window through a bouquet of lilacs, watching the breeze blow the pear blossom tree, obscuring my view of the street.
(Ha! I bet you thought I was kidding.)