People Who Didn't Live Pre-internet Can't Grasp

The Emotional Stakes A Memoirist Bets With Could Not Be Higher, And It's Physically Enervating. I Nap On A Daily Basis Like A Cross-country Trucker.

The Lesson You've Got To Learn Is The Someday You'll Someday Stagger To, Blinking In Cold Light, All Tears Shed, Ready To Poke Your Bovine Head In The Yoke They've Shaped. Everyone Learns This. Born, Everyone Breathes, Pays Tax, Plants Dead And Hurts Galore. There's Grief Enough For Each. My Mother Learned By Moving Man To Man, Outlived Them All. The Parched Earth's Bare (once She Leaves It) Of Any Who Watched The Instants I Trod It. Other Than Myself, Of Course. I've Made A Study Of Bearing And Forbearance. Everyone Does, It Turns Out, And Note Those Faces Passing By: Not One's A God.

How Much Smaller The Large Places Are Once We're Grown Up, When We Have Car Keys And Credit Cards.

I'm Doomed To Act Like Myself, Even When It's Inconvenient!

Even The Best Of Us Are At Least Part-time Bastards.