i’m sorry joan didion but afraid i’m not particularly interested in reading about the death of your husband and the way in which you mourned his death and the way in which you overcame his death and all the other little events and circumstances of your life post-husband *as a widow*. i’d rather get on with my own life you know by continuing to watch episodes of party down on netflix or finishing swamp thing or you know just finishing this dag-on security shift or maybe even catchin a little shut-eye but do you care about that? no, joan didion i don’t think you care one bit. joan you inconsiderate old bat you just had to go and write this book about your feelings and all and now i have to read about it and relate to it and connect the events of your life with the events of my own and i’m just not that into it. i got my own agenda joan. did you even consider that i might have things to do already? did that thought cross your mind? you’re so heartless joan. i bet you didn’t even grieve your husband’s death. i bet these feelings of grief and hopelessness that you claim to be your own are all made up.. just fiction. isn’t that what you specialize in, joan? fictitious novels? sure the story holds a tinge of reality but it isn’t your story, is it joan? i bet it was just all about the benjamins (baby). what, you fake your grief so you can make your buck? you don’t fool me in the least bit joan i know what you’re all about and guess what i’ve had it i am disgusted and i absolutely refuse to finish your novel.
i particularly loved how every two paragraphs she has a flashback to her amazing life of traveling to expensive exotic places i dont give a fuck about or looking at some goddamn flowers floating in her pool
