If you don’t want to read Edgar Allan Poe together by the fireplace whilst sharing a plate of midnight croissants in an abandoned château in the French countryside during a full moon with the sound of wolves in the distance, then please don’t tell me you’re “down for a good time."
I still don't have a bookshelf with a rolling ladder, so no, I'm afraid your email did not "find me well.”
I much prefer doing my research amidst the flickering lanterns of an old-fashioned library in Prague during a raging thunderstorm with the help of a library ghost, so no, I'm afraid I have no interest in "asking ChatGPT.”
If you don't believe that magical places still exist, I ask that you simply walk into your local independent bookstore.
At the end of the day, don’t we all just want to open up an independent bookstore that doubles as a café and triples as a pet rescue?
If you don’t occasionally eat an entire pint of Häagen-Dazs Belgian chocolate ice cream straight out of the container whilst watching a documentary on koalas, then are you really living life to the fullest?
At the end of the day, aren't we all just working hard to give our pets a better life?
I don't know who needs to hear this, but one day, you will pull a loose book from a bookshelf and that hidden door will finally open for you.
All I want is a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, a raging thunderstorm, an Agatha Christie novel, a crackling fire, a kettle on the stove, an owl keeping watch, and a basket of emotional support scones.
Don't allow anyone to tell you that reading Agatha Christie in a Scottish Highlands cottage in front of a crackling fire during a raging storm whilst enjoying a plate of freshly-baked emotional support scones and multiple cups of tea "doesn't classify" as self-care.
