That voice, you know, the one who likes to come around right when you’re attempting to drag your ass out of the lost and found, and do your fucking writing like you said you would. The voice that likes to perch on your left frontal lobe and fuck with your language skills. Yeahhhhh, that one. That one has been knitting a sweater out of what hair I have left on my head after all the tearing and wailing and gnashing of teeth, just kicked back up there with a little beach umbrella and a mai-tai.
Filed under: Bring Grammy A Bourbon | Tagged: scaly monsters who knit
