Alcoholism Is The Disease Of More.

By Definition, Memoir Demands A Certain Degree Of Introspection And Self-disclosure: In Order To Fully Engage A Reader, The Narrator Has To Make Herself Known, Has To Allow Her Own Self-awareness To Inform The Events She Describes.

Love—the Desire To Love And Be Loved, To Hold And Be Held, To Give Love Even If Your Experience As A Recipient Has Been Compromised Or Incomplete—is The Constant On The Continuum Of Hunger, It's What Links The Anorexic To The Garden-variety Dieter, It's The Persistent Pulse Of Need And Yearning Behind The Reach For Food, For Sex, For Something.

Happy And Alone, You Say? Reclusive And Merry? How Oxymoronic! Pas Possible! Alas, The Concept Is Lost On So Many.

A Lot Of People, Quite Frankly, Think Intense Attachments To Animals Are Weird And Suspect, The Domain Of People Who Can't Quite Handle Attachments To Humans.

But Then The Wine Came, One Glass And Then A Second Glass. And Somewhere During That Second Drink, The Switch Was Flipped. The Wine Gave Me A Melting Feeling, A Warm Light Sensation In My Head, And I Felt Like Safety Itself Had Arrived In That Glass, Poured Out From The Bottle And Allowed To Spill Out Between Us.