I never laugh or smile when I am writing. When I come home for lunch after writing all morning my wife says I look like I just came home from a funeral. This is not bragging. This is an illness.
Thanks to the greatest invention of recent years the MP3-playing alarm clock I can now choose the song that wakes me up in the morning.
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The episodes all blend together for me so I don't remember. I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I always feel I must be such a disappointment to them.
