Not literally, of course, because then I would be 1) made of wood 2) not having of opposable thumbs and 3) incredibly creepy. Since I don't fancy the idea of being scared of myself, let me just explain that I'm sometimes a tad daft.
Left my notes for this Friday's Pop Syndicate column on my quite cluttered work desk. Somewhere mixed in with badly translated refrigeration manuals and catalogues of washing machines, my Pulitzer-worthy essay on PG-13 and horror is hiding. And waiting patiently for this fine Friday evening. Check back tomorrow.
But you don't have to scream about it.
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