“You are all I need,” sings Tom Yorke over my speaker, as I try, for the third time today, to put down the word on a blank page, while struggling with a couple of beers being digested in my stomach. “I should still go to the gym,” I think, and eat some dark chocolate to wash the alcohol away. I know it won’t work, of course. Just like the piece I was trying to write about my father being a dick and teaching me and my siblings to hate women. Or the other piece in which I wanted to explain that I have no fucking idea what “dating” is, because my only two proper long-lasting (and failed) relationships started in a very simple way. There was too much emphasis on my Norwegian ex girlfriend in that particular piece, which I didn’t think my current girlfriend would like. But, what the fuck do I know. I’m a “writer” who wants to write, but not really. I prefer fucking, shitting, drinking, eating and binge-watching Netflix. It’d be great to be able to do all of that at the same time. Maybe that’s what Heaven is like. Let’s wait and see. Eduardo out.