There are days I wish I could be good at some other things besides writing. It’s not that I’m superb at writing, but I’m only good at it and terrible at pretty much anything else. Once in a while I wanted to do something else to earn some money. I tried, I tried real hard but no matter how much I did, I failed. In the end, writing was like a bitchy wife waiting for me at home and laughed at my miserable distorted face when she saw me dragging my legs back home, no money, no nothing. “Told you,” she