I Don't Like Being Left To My

I Mean, I'm Always Happy If I Have, Like, Humiliating Asshole Things That I Did. I Think: Oh Good, That's A Good Story. Because If You Write About Humiliating Asshole Things Other People Do It Doesn't Work As Well. I Mean, You Can, But You Can Get Away With It Better If You Talk About What An Asshole You Are. It's Much Easier.

In Other Parts Of The Country People Tried To Stay Together For The Sake Of The Children. In New York They Tried To Work Things Out For The Sake Of The Apartment.

My Sister Tiffany Told Me Years Ago, 'you Can Never Write About Me.' Then She Called Six Months Ago And Said She Wanted To Be In A Story. She Was Worried People Thought I Didn't Like Her.

The Woman In Charge Of Costuming Assigned Us Our Outfits And Gave Us A Lecture On Keeping Things Clean. She Held Up A Calendar And Said, "ladies, You Know What This Is. Use It. I Have Scraped Enough Blood Out From The Crotches Of Elf Knickers To Last Me The Rest Of My Life. And Don't Tell Me, 'i Don't Wear Underpants, I'm A Dancer.' You're Not A Dancer. If You Were A Real Dancer You Wouldn't Be Here. You're An Elf And You're Going To Wear Panties Like An Elf.

I Had Paid For My Folly And, As A Reward, Was Invited To Take Part In The Nest Builder’s Performance Piece. The Script Was Great. ‘when I Bleat Here, Do You Want Me To Just Bleat Or To Really Let Go And “bleat, Bleat”?’ I Asked. ‘i Feel Like “bleat, Bleating,” But If Mother/destroyer Is Going To Be Crawling Through The Birth Canal Of Concertina Wire, I Don’t Want To Steal Focus, You Know What I Mean?