As a male writer, do you feel your work distracts from your traditional role of hunting and killing wild animals?
It’s weirdly disheartening to get older and realize that your favorite professors are only 10 years older than you and that you can understand their thought processes and see how dorky they really are, now that you’re away from the glitter of their lectures. I just want to keep worshipping my old professors, not know that they’re real people, ok!
As a side note, this is my last evening in the same house with the world’s worst roommate.
It’s the eve of moving day and I’m entirely dedicated to spending my whole evening in bed watching Gordon Ramsay.
I think my priorities are correct.