Sometimes, I Think Bill Forgets That I

You Know . . . A Lot Of Kids At School Hate Their Parents. Some Of Them Got Hit. And Some Of Them Got Caught In The Middle Of Wrong Lives. Some Of Them Were Trophies For Their Parents To Show The Neighbors Like Ribbons Or Gold Stars. And Some Of Them Just Wanted To Drink In Peace.

I Know That I Brought This All On Myself. I Know That I Deserve This. I'd Do Anything Not To Be This Way. I'd Do Anything To Make It Up To Everyone. And To Not Have To See A Psychiatrist, Who Explains To Me About Being "passive Aggressive.

And All The Books You've Read Have Been Read By Other People. And All The Songs You've Loved Have Been Heard By Other People. And That Girl That's Pretty To You Is Pretty To Other People. And That If You Looked At These Facts When You Were Happy, You Would Feel Great Because You Are Describing 'unity.

I Sat Down And Tried To Write A Story. "ian Macarthur Is A Wonderful Sweet Fellow Who Wears Glasses And Peers Out Of Them With Delight." That Was The First Sentence. The Problem Was That I Just Couldn't Think Of The Next One. After Cleaning My Room Three Times, I Decided To Leave Ian Alone For A While Because I Was Starting To Get Mad At Him.

They Just Knew. And I Think That's All You Can Ever Ask From A Friend.