"I am not even packing a (crutch of the literati/crack cocaine of the chronically self-involved) Writing Journal."Wow. Ouch. Wow.
"How about your friend Jolene?" Ben shoots back. "The Blocked Novelist/actress/lyricist/playwright/whatever. Maybe she should move to New York."Wait a minute. I originally came from New York. My apartment is under rent control. Wow. Ouch.
"Actually," I say, "Jolene originally came from New York--or perhaps the word is fled."
"And now she lives in Santa Monica. Practically rent-free."
"Exactly. A musical based on Los Angeles bohemian life would be called not Rent but Rent Control."
Oh God, now this. Page 215. I actually clasp my hand over my mouth when I read this, here in the
"Do you guys hear me? I've had purer 'highs' off paying my bills with Quicken!"
"'Quicken!' they murmur. Apparently they like Quicken too."
WOW. OUCH. RDB, this is your life. A quick look at statistics from the past six months or so of my journal, in which I write nightly (see "chronically self-involved", above) -
Number of instances of the word sex: 2
Number of instances of the word Quicken: 19