Sometimes I think I’m a complicated person, with unpredictable thoughts and emotions. When I stop thinking of myself as some mysterious character in a novel, I realize how false that is. Right now I’m parked on my couch with a book and a beer, listening to Ryan Adams and thinking about having a second go at that bowl of guacamole I made before I clean my apartment. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my life is filled with simple pleasures. I don’t think that’s such a bad place to be.