On the one hand, and on the other…
On the one hand, I want to be writing great things, entertaining things, at least. The guy at the bar the other night, the guy with really sweaty hands who grabbed my face because he wanted to know if “that thing is real.” The way Jenna, my sister-in-law, smacked his arm away Kung Fu style. I want to write things.
On the other hand, I feel empty inside, and entertaining feels pointless.
Share me:
