“Catwoman 3” by 89g on the da.
Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds.
If one more person uses my recent illness as the basis of a “you should” type sentence whose predicate is, “finish some of your writing,” I am going to jump off the roof. This threat is less dramatic than it seems: I live in a one-story house. I just figure that if I’ve got a lot of stitches and splints, maybe it will give these well-meaning loved ones something else to talk to me about.