Every reformed firebug has her closet of spent matchbooks.
(Ok, just grant me some poetic license here. A point is coming.)
And just like Wick Girl up there, I’ve got some nasty reminders lurking behind a few closed doors.
Mental conflagrations, baby.
Crash and burns of epic academic nature.
And, today, I had to FedEx off all my matchbooks to grad school.
(Um, in other words, my transcripts have been sent.)
I don’t enjoy showing off my burnt nubs.
(Understatement of the year. Just saying.)