I’m doing a bit of writing today here at work. It’s surprising because I thought my title had officially changed from copywriter to meeting-attender. But alas I’ve had a bit of a reprieve and now I’m doing battle with the cliches that jump so easily from my fingers it’s frightening.

I remember telling the Artguy once that every time i typed the phrase “and more!” a little bit of my soul died. Now what’s left of my swiss-cheese soul is being eaten by the ‘next level.’

It’s days like this where I need a sugar daddy to fuck me gently and then leave me to write my pretty little stories about boring little nothings. My god, why can’t I ever get what i want?