Half empty or hall full? I don't freakin' know. As a bookworm turned writer, who lives off (on?) coffee and candy, both of which subsequently fuel nights typing on (or staring at) my MacBook until my eyes hurt, I'm just trying to keep my glass level. Making light of what seems to be a continual stream of humiliation helps. (So do margaritas.) In short, if I don't laugh--mainly at myself--I'll cry.
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