what the hell

my house is a black hole. i get nothing productive done and
waste entire days here doing nothing but eating and watching
television. but when i leave, i can get so much done. it’s
incredibly frustrating: i may be one of the few writer-types who
actually needs to brush their hair, do their makeup, and be
presentable to get anything done.

tomorrow i’m actually going to leave the house, get some research and reading and writing done, and i would like to reward myself with a beer. sounds good, eh?

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