Ok so I am trying to write this book but it is not going anywhere. Its like A BOOK, so it needs to be good, right? So there’s all this pressure, because first i have to start it, so that I can eventually be right in the middle and the obviously I need to finish it so I can publish it. No big whoop, right? WRONG? So wrong. This “project” feels like an exercise in self-flagellation. So here I go. I am tricking myself. Yeah that’s right. Self, you are about the get punked. Self, you might as well be on candid camera because you are so dumb you don’t even know I am going to write my book in this blog template to trick you into thinking this is just a blog. Right, one little blog, how hard can it be? Not hard you say? EXACTLY. Not hard.. so lets go here…

Ok its hard. I am going to say why now as part of this writing exercise. At least I am writing, right? Its because I think I need to think of an “idea” and that makes me nervous.

maybe I need to drink or get stoned so I won’t be so nervous. Isn’t that what real writers do?

* * *

At 17, the greatest tragedy of my life was entering my freshman year at Tufts University with my hymen fully intact. At that time, neither my grandmother nor my dog had yet died however I feel confident that even if they had, my status as a virgin would have been far more disturbing. I’d had every intention of checking “have sex” off my list before getting to college. I happen to love lists. Love them. I make lists of everything, not just normal stuff like groceries, but also I have a running list of books to read, I keep lists and logs of all my running races and triathlons, and of course there is my favorite, my to-do list. I put everything from “do laundry” to “pay mastercard” to “take shower.” Sometimes I even write “lunch.” There is no satisfaction like the one that comes with making a clean line across a task that has been done, even if it is as mundane as “get dressed.”

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