This is both boring and fascinating. Young, female, writer living in Park Slope with boyfriend and puppy. They cook brunch together! While listening to NPR! On their laptops! What's even more irritating is that the article is presented as offering a sneak peek into the life of a "real" writer, and yet she herself acknowledges that everything she does is a cliché.
If you want to know what the life of a real writer is like, here is what I do on Sundays.
UP AND OUT When I wake up, the first thing I do is put on my silk kimono, and thank God I don't own any dogs or babies and I can sleep as late as I want. After I water my hanging plants, I put on my day costume and walk to the corner bakery to get a non-organic bagel with non-organic cream cheese. Here is a picture of me in my day costume:
IN THE CLUB I don't belong to any clubs.
BRUNCH AT HOME Alone, I eat my bagel and drink coffee with milk, 2 sugars, on my terrace. I watch people across the street entering and leaving their houses. I fantasize, I brood, I think about what I want to say about headless women on book covers.
ERRAND FREE My unpaid intern does my errands for me. In exchange, she is learning valuable skills in errand-running and preventing important people like me, a real writer, from yelling at her.
WORK TIME If writing seems daunting, I do balancing poses, which make writing seem easy.
DINNER WITH FRIENDS I don't go to dinner at Roberta's. I go to dinner at a place that's so local and so original I'm not even going to tell you what it's called. Okay, it's called The Farm. I order a cheeseburger, medium well. Here is a picture of me in my evening costume.
MORE TV [Why is this writer watching so much TV? Why is the NYTimes writing about someone else's TV habits? Who cares?]
READ, MAKE LISTS Before bed, I again thank God that I don't have a puppy. I read some Ian Frazier, so I can go on Siberian adventures in my dreams. Here is a picture of me, right before I go to sleep.