So I’m an awful person.

I haven’t posted in a million years. Surprisingly, when you’re working seven nights a week to summarize the very essence of yourself in less than two double-spaced pages, chain smoking like a 1960’s father-to-be in the maternity ward and lubricating your typing fingers with rum and coke . . .  Surprisingly, you don’t feel like writing more afterwards, even recreationally.

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