Susannah Diaries, Part 0
May 2018
Now I'm in the drying up black mustard out behind the house, song sparrows going, flies biting me, having wasted the morning. Have to text Amy about going to the Irvine bird sanctuary, which I now don't want to do. Reading about David Foster Wallace killing himself over not pulling his novel together. Reading him now puts him in my head and makes me feel evil agitated energy. He stalked Mary Karr's kid at school and tried to buy a gun to kill her BF or some shit from a guy at an AA meeting. How come my AA meetings never have pussy like that. Maybe they do. I just don't run into it because I'm not famous.
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