In a parallel universe, there is a version of me living in London. He has a shabby bedsit in Soho and tons of cash because he's single with no children and no discernible interests beyond cheap booze and even cheaper women. He also has herpes and his liver is failing, but I'll bet when his junk isn't on fire, he's pretty happy and gets plenty of writing done.
In this life, however, I'm married (12 years) with three kids/ feral animals and a cubicle job, all of which conspire to prevent me from accomplishing anything except watching the damn Wiggles for the eleven billionth time.
During the commercials, I'm hoping to get some blogging done. Wish me luck! Stick around for news of my upcoming projects, ghastly tales of my children that will make you feel great about your own life, and, if I don't get enough hits, pictures of my junk.