NYC Diary #19

MONDAY

7:04 a.m. I haven’t slept well in weeks. My massage therapist keeps giving me Xanax because my doctor is weird about prescribing it. (And because he wants to fuck me, I think. Not my doctor. Though that would be interesting.)

There’s a writers conference in Seattle next week.

I’d rather kill myself than be at a writers conference. I’ll be in Barcelona.