I Just Laid Around In My Bed,

Writing Screenplays Is Incredibly Hard. I Can't Call It Joy. Writing Novels? Joy. Directing? Joy. Writing Screenplays? That's Where You Pay All Your Dues.

I Just Listened To The Music, And Breathed In The Day, And Remembered Things. Things Like Walking Around The Neighborhood And Looking At The Houses And The Lawns And The Colorful Trees And Having That Be Enough.

The Gift From My Secret Santa Wasn't Anything Special. That Makes Me Sad. I Bet You Anything That Mary Elizabeth Is My Secret Santa Because Only She Would Give Me Socks.

I Don't Even Remember The Season. I Just Remember Walking Between Them And Feeling For The First Time That I Belonged Somewhere.

You Can't Just Sit There And Put Everyone's Lives Ahead Of Yours And Think That Counts As Love. You Just Can't. You Have To Do Things.