Holy hell, whose idea was all of this eBay bullshit?

I spent three full days writing copy, taking pictures and posting auctions. Today I spent three hours answering emails, packing boxes and filling out forms. Seriously, this is dangerously close to having a job.

And by the way, don’t turn around and give me a dirty look when I’m taping up boxes at the post office. This isn’t the museum. Tape makes noise. Fuck you.

And how about this exchange I had with the clerk when I got to the counter?

“So,” he said, “how is your career going?”

I looked at him for a second, taken aback. “Fine . . . why?”

“Oh,” he said, as he stamped box after box of my former possessions, “I used to listen to you on the radio.”

How’s that? How’s that for a big Requiem for a Dream kind of moment? The kind of thing that makes you want to go home and wash down a handful of Xanax with a Nyquil and soda?

I felt like Bette Davis, dressed in rags and warming her hands over a fire in a trash can. I expected a little kid to run up to me and ask, “Hey lady, didn’t you used to be somebody?”

Go buy some of my shit, will you? They’re worried about me down at the post office.