Needless to say, this isn't a pretty picture.
James does this too. Right now it's Saturday afternoon, a gloomy one at that, and we are our separate compartments writing, writing, writing (I mean, as separate as it gets in a New York apartment). I feel pretty sure that the next time I see him, his hair will also be slightly disarrayed.
This makes me feel like we're meant for each other.
Just kidding. It doesn't really.
Other things I cannot do:
- eat just one half of a grapefruit (I don't get it, you get the whole orange once you start it, what's the difference?)
- be terrifically cheerful in the morning
- fly by use of just my own power (not yet, anyway)
- understand people who litter (littering is a sure sign of a sociopath. who do you think is going to clean that up?)
- get the woman below me to stop smoking in her apartment (after two conversations, we're 80% there. that is, however, for a fresh air fiend like myself, not enough. i'm actually pretty excited to see the outcome of the battle between my iron will and her addiction to nicotine)