Do I ever know how Bono feels
Writers are busy people. I mean, really busy. If it weren't for us, there'd be nothing to read. Along with our gigantic salaries, it's these endless hours in the grotto, working our fingers to the bone, fretting about our global reputations and so forth. Sometimes these other deeply important things come up that drag us away from our deeply important writerly duties. So far this summer I've had a terrible time with farmer's tan and have been diligently attempting to rectify the situation. Also, there were friendship matters to attend to over red wine, which can really tire you out if you don't drink it that often. Don't hate me, I'll be back in a couple of weeks when the summer wears off.
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