At the urging of all of you, and after much consideration, I think I finally will have the time to (dun dun dun) write a book.

You know, since I won’t have a job soon and all.  And u know, since I’m gonna need some kind of income due to the afore mentioned job loss. 

The thing is, I just want to write a book.   And not like, sit down and write a book but more like, close my eyes, blink twice, and twirl in counter-clockwise circles until one magically appears on my desk;  hard cover copy and all.  Complete with an amazing picture and bio of me, of course.

It’s kind of like how I imagined playing the piano as a kid.  I’d watch my piano teacher for hours on end, playing and playing and playing and playing.   I’d never actually play myself, until it came time for our weekly session and I’d have not progressed since last week.

“You have to practice,” she’d say.

Right.

Practice.

Cuz APPARENTLY, thats the only way you get good at something.  Pfffft.

Since I don’t want my future NY Times Bestseller (which will also be a part of Oprah’s book club) to suck, I promise to practice.  I am making a comittment to write more about anything.  Everything.   Even if I dont think its good.  

Practice makes perfect.  And gets your shit published.   I hope. 

First thing I’m writing?  A REALLY GOOD letter of resignation.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.  YOU’RE cool.  Fuck you. I’m out!”