I know I've let you down, friends. I know I've basically given up this little navel-gazer in favour of more productive forms of self-reflection, like yoga, obsessive baking, and reading real estate listings. If I could, I'd write a review of Homes and Land of Kingston and the Thousand Islands, because that's pretty much the only thing I've read cover to cover in the last month. Alright, that's a lie. I also read How Did You Get This Number by Sloane Crosley, and fell in love with her all over again. Her latest collection of essays covers everything from a surreal trip to Alaska for a friend's wedding to her descent into the stolen furniture underground economy in New York City to the joys of roommate relationships. I feel like she is the writer I would be if I had time to really be a writer, which makes me both ecstatically happy and incredibly sad, you know?
Oh, I also got this thing published. Read it here. In summation, I've concurrently expressed my passion and my complete dismissal of my metier, and now if you don't mind, I'm going to lie on the floor and listen to the Weakerthans for a little while.
