i "wrote" something for a "book" that just went to press. i'm hoping it won't hold back my ill-defined plans to become upper middle class-level successful before i'm sixty. it doesn't make me feel any worse than stressing my body into emergency surgery, so there's that. doesn't make me feel great, either. hmm.
my work is unfulfilling. too many powerpoints and un-repaid lunches for people who make four times the money i do to feel satisfied. PS, i'm cold and i don't read minds.
tired of white people, white towers and white precipitation.
peace,