I. Am. Slain.
Drove back up last night. Had some deep covo with the sister. Very deep. Deeper than the maraianas trench. Deeper than the US's love of mcdonalds and capitalistic murder.
But alas and alack. Dead week apparently. I am met with. One is so forlorn when faced with it. All I want to do is finish my little book and contemplate the small eccentricities of human form and writing style, and how I knew all along about Gossip Girl. Something that popular could no way be originally conceived from some O.C. writing mind. Not to say it's not clever. It is. Perhaps I'm just another cheerless prole.
and i'm short on rent.
zut alors.... mais c'est la vie, non?
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