I feel like writing but I don’t know what. My head is a little jammed. Not that I’d necessarily have it any other way, but an assistant would be good. Or a houseboy. Or a harem of talented men who can take care of all of my needs and whims. I don’t think it would be such a grueling job: I’m not a very whimsical person, and if you know how to vacuum and fold laundry, my needs are pretty much covered. The only reason they have to be men at all is the sex part. (This listing will have a special place on Craigslist.)
In other news, this has been a pivotal week: a job interview, a grad school interview, joining the gym, finally naming our new business, and . . . well, I don’t need to go over everything. The point is, one of the self-help poobahs I used to work with used to say, “The more you do, the more you are.” I guess that means I’m fat.