It Was At A Vividly Bad Time

The Emotions In All True Anxiety Dreams Are Next To Unbearable.

I Have A Disturbing Problem With Losing Things. My Vulnerability To Loss-distress Could Properly Be Labeled Not Only Inordinate, But Neurotic.

Being The Offspring Of English Teachers Is A Mixed Blessing. When The Film Star Says To You, On The Air, 'it Was A Perfect Script For She And I,' Inside Your Head You Hear, In The Sarcastic Voice Of Your Late Father, 'perfect For She, Eh? And Perfect For I, Also?'

Perhaps The Saddest Irony Of Depression Is That Suicide Happens When The Patient Gets A Little Better And Can Again Function Sufficiently.

When I Was A Kid In Nebraska, A Cantankerous Farmer, Known For Plinking With His '22 At Passing Cars In Which He Perceived Enemies, Ingeniously Rigged Up A Shotgun In His House, Trained On The Inside Of His Front Door So As To Widely Distribute Any Intruder.