Fuck Me, Nine Years Flies By!

Hello internet people! Going to give this shit another shot.

I am back and I have written a book and while I sit here drinking day wine for the foreseeable future, I need to do some shit to distract myself and to avoid sending any cringe-worthy emails to my agent or potential editors, demanding as to WHY THE FUCK THE BOOK HASN'T SOLD YET.

So yes, clearly, I am calm. I am calm, composed and collected and now, nine years on, back in my homeland of England living with a cat who actively has tried to kill me on several occasions. As a result, my days are spent avoiding the cat - who, despite being blind, has managed to accurately navigate itself around the house as it chases me like a demonic torpedo. No joke, the cat has actually scarred me for life on my feet and I will never be able to wear shoes that are open on the top of my feet without looking like I have been struck by lightning. It's also scraped at my wrists too so that's been a fun conversation starter with any new person that I meet when I feel the unsolicited need to clarify that I am not self-harming and am, in fact, a victim of the hell-goblin who resides in my house, shits in my kitchen, and can barely tolerate more than two seconds of interaction with a human before launching into a kamikaze attack. I can only hope that living in constant fear for my life is a solid character-builder.

But anyway, despite living with a furry satan, I am waiting for the sale of my book which, while I want it to be published, may directly result in my own demise due to the fact that I am an arsehole and have included not only my own most cringeworthy moments, but also the most cringeworthy moments of others. I have, of course, changed the names of the people involved, but I am pretty sure that my ex-boyfriend will be HIGHLY aware that he is the only person who has shat on my floor while dancing naked. As I am HIGHLY aware that he made me look him in the eye and promise that I would never utter that story to another living being, and that publishing a book that I hope to reach hundreds of thousands of people is somewhat the opposite of that. Somewhat.

So, anyway, while I avoid cat attacks and try to keep busy by avoiding harassing anyone who may be potentially responsible for my future career as a writer, I will endeavor to continue on my quest for cringe.