Lesson for Wednesday: my lower lashes are too long for mascara. I tried it and I look like an insane Harlequin. Considering I hate clowns, not the best result.

Watched Californication last night (yes, I know, gasps sock, quelle horreur, etcetera. It’s so bad you gotta love it). I prefer Dylan Moran’s drunk bookstore owner to David Duchovny’s drunk writing professor, but still. It pushes the boundaries which is pretty interesting. Anyway, in the latest ep Duchovny is responsible for the attempted suicide of one of his creative writing students when he tells the kid that his story sucks and he’s a terrible writer. I was laughing but at the same time I felt a bit like I’d been punched in the gut. I’m pretty sure if someone told me that I’m a terrible writer, I’d cast myself into the depths of despair too. Sure, I write bad stuff, everyone does. But writing, being a “writer” is so deeply ingrained to my pysche, such a huge part of my identity. If someone told me I’d been wasting my whole life up until this point believing that I could write, and that I could one day do something with it… well, I’m really not sure what else I’d do. I’m way too old for a career change (jks).

Anyway, on a lighter note, here’s some squirrels doing massage. How do I find this shit?