Tuesday, June 24, 2014
I feel a little bit like a woman careening out of control with a strange compulsion to tell all to every person I meet on the street and otherwise. I bet if you emailed me or asked me a question here, I'd answer with so much detail you'd be embarrassed for me.
What's the difference between being impaled and picking tiny little spikes out of yourself?
I have a tiny little terrarium with a tiny little cactus with tiny little spikes shooting out of it, just perfectly tiny and tinily perfect. I put a tiny little woman with a tiny little sign in front of it, zoomed in with my cellphone and took a picture. I feel like her, except for the tiny part.
P.S. If you've read my e-book and feel so inclined, would you mind leaving a review on Amazon? Here's the link.