I Am Going To The Bad Place,

Unfortunately, There's No Greater Rhyme Or Reason As To Why It Would Be Me. And Since There Is No Answer As To Why Me, It's Not A Question I Feel Really Entitled To Ask.

There Are Many Things In This World That Are An Outrage, To Be Sure, But Death At Our Current Life Expectancy Doesn’t Strike Me As One Of Them. Maybe I Sound Like Some Victorian Who Felt That Forty Years Ought To Be Enough For Any Man, But One Of The Marks Of A Life Well Lived Has To Be Reaching A State Of Finally Getting It, Of Not Needing More, And Of Being Able To Sign Off With Something Approaching Peace Of Mind.

Well Into Adulthood, Writing Has Never Gotten Easier. It Still Only Ever Begins Badly, And There Are No Guarantees That This Is Not The Day When The Jig Is Finally Up.

Simplicity, It Seems, Has Always Been Wasted On Those Who Simply Cannot Appreciate It

I Am Neither Spontaneous Nor Ready For Anything.