

I used to have a way with words. Some people tell me I still do. Going to see if I have anything longer than my usual 3 to 5 sentences still in me.
…’m driven to do this. My life is an anxiety-producing mess, and I’m okay telling that to the world. I think we are all a mess, and nothing drives me crazier than reading magazines, for example, that make it sound like most people are organized, together, happy, and well-fucked all the time.