I Hate This Bizarre Policy Of Protective

When You Are Five, You Know Your Age Down To The Month. Even In Your Twenties, You Know How Old You Are. I'm Twenty-three You Say, Or Maybe Twenty-seven. But Then In Your Thirties, Something Strange Starts To Happen. It Is A Mere Hiccup At First, An Instant Of Hesitation. How Old Are You? Oh, I'm--you Start Confidently, But Then You Stop. You Were Going To Say Thirty-three, But You Are Not. You're Thirty-five. And Then You're Bothered, Because You Wonder If This Is The Beginning Of The End. It Is, Of Course, But It's Decades Before You Admit It.

The Only Thing That Makes Me Crazier Than Writing Is Not Writing.

I'm Afraid To Breathe In Case I Break The Spell

The Sky The Sky- Same As It Always Was.

We Traveled For Two Weeks With A Pickled Hippo.