I can't seem to focus on the Land Of Make-Believe this month. Old memories are rehashed and remixed with new ones, for a lukewarm October batch entries resembling Memoirs of a Nobody Internet Person. (Most entries so far do in fact start with an irritating, self-indulgent "I").
I always hated non-fiction, and it wasn't until adulthood that started gravitating to biographies, true-crime, and shit that I tried to avoid in my reading life (i.e., If I wanted to experience the Real World, I wouldn't be reading it, now would I?) Or so went the reasoning.