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In first starting my site, I saw these prompts as the tools of a fake writer, an uninspired, abnegated, and decaying mindless penman. In consideration of my last piece, I can now see myself in that same description, maybe a piece of projection in that harsh initial judgement that signified a removal of my rose-tinted
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The light is too dark, the music is too quite, the people are too loud, and goddamn this coffee smells more like the bottom of my grandma’s bunioned-out feet than it should. I am angry all of the time, not at people, not at the world, but only ever at myself. How am I supposed
I Am Schumer 