We Stayed At Home To Write, To

Happy! That Is Indefinable As Far As States Of Being Go.

If I Didn’t Think, I’d Be Much Happier.

God, Is This All It Is, The Ricocheting Down The Corridor Of Laughter And Tears? Of Self-worship And Self-loathing? Of Glory And Disgust?

I Have This Demon Who Wants Me To Run Away Screaming If I Am Going To Be Flawed, Fallible. It Wants Me To Think I'm So Good I Must Be Perfect. Or Nothing. I Am, On The Contrary, Something: A Being Who Gets Tired, Has Shyness To Fight, Has More Trouble Than Most Facing People Easily.

I Never Feel So Much Myself As When I'm In A Hot Bath.