Excerpt

I'm pretending to write a book. Pretending, in that, I say I'm doing it (actively) but really, all I'm doing is thinking about it (passively). Usually inspiration strikes me in chunks and I sit and write until I hit a wall or get too busy to give it any attention.

Sometimes, when I get back to it, I have to reread what I previously wrote. And oddly, I stumble upon portions that I don't even remember writing, like this one. My character's name is Kaitlyn. She works at an ad agency and lives alone. Her boyfriend is a jerk, she just hasn't figured it out yet. Don't worry, she will.

Probably my favorite thing about living here is that I’m alone. That I know several things when I put my key into the door. 1: That the door is, in fact, locked. 2: That the only shoes on the floor will be mine. And 3: I will not have the unfortunate experience of walking in on a certain someone and her boyfriend getting frisky on my couch. Yes, those things happened, the first two numerous times, the third thankfully only once. And I made her pay to have the couch cleaned. I think she was more upset about that than my viewing her tattooed bum. At least she was interesting.

But when it comes to roommates, I don’t like interesting. Interesting is fun to bump into in a bar on a random Saturday night. Interesting is not fun to live with on a daily basis. So I was grateful when I landed the job at Collins & Collins and could afford to move out. And, I think she was happy to be rid of the ‘prudish, quiet girl.’ Or at least that’s what her twitter stream said before I blocked her. People say that you shouldn’t live with your friends, that you might grow to hate and/or despise each other. I’m here to say that you should also avoid the girl in your quant class too. Just because you both need a roommate, go to the same school and work nearby does not mean you are compatible to share living quarters, more less a bathroom.

Don’t get me started on the bathroom. Let’s just say I’m not exactly proud of what I did to her shower radio or the means with which I had to go to do it. Desperate times and all.

I walk inside and smile. The only person greeting me is Presley, and while he’s not actually a person, he seems to think so, and who am I to take that away from him? 

Hopefully one day, I will finish this project. And then start on the other three books in my head. (Are you laughing? I am.)