Can't concentrate for shit.
My mind is split a million different avenues; has been for the past few days. The book is done, now I need to get the letter to the agent, but I'm not having the best of luck getting it to read the way it should. I can do it for everyone else, but not myself? What the fuck?
Story of my life.
All I want is a small house in the mountains, surrounded by an electric fence mounted with motion censor triggered assault rifles. Behind the fence: man-eating wolves, and a bridge-less moat filled with crocodiles, preferably crocodiles because they are more aggressive than alligators.
No comments:
Post a Comment