Because I don’t have much of a sense of ownership over things…
“Do you want half of whatever I eat forever? OK. Want to stay at my house? That would make it easier for you to eat half of everything I eat.”

Because nothing is sacred – weddings, funerals, paring down the belongings of deceased family members…
“Hated it! Those shoes don’t match that purse!”

Because I would sooner pluck out my eyes with chopsticks than voluntarily spend any time around charismatic, bottom-line people (ie: those who do possess business savvy)…
“I’m very bad with chopsticks.”

Because for me, misspelled or ridiculous signs are like birthday presents from the universe…
“Does the sign on the escalator really say ‘For Passengers Only’?”

Because I don’t regret having majored in a side project…
“Screenwriting! An elective where I study absurdist theatre? Sign me up.”

Because I can watch any documentary and listen to anyone talk about anything for any length of time…
“You think deodorant is a conspiracy? Go on.”

This is not why I chose to be a writer. This is why I can only be a writer.

Because my brother and I have gone through all of the above, share all of the above sentiments and spend an unacceptable portion of our days emailing each other…
“Multiglobal? Really? What do they think that means?”

This is why we have to write together. That and our matching airbrushed t-shirts.

Here’s some more in case you haven’t had enough of my writing: Tales of Woah. While reading, I advise you to please exercise portion control. Mostly because there isn’t much up there just yet. Just read a little at a time and use a smaller plate – it will seem like more.

We created it – let’s take it over. – Patti Smith. Bless her heart.