As A Writer, You Can't Allow Yourself

It Was A Salad Bar Of Phobias

Most Everybody Had Made At Least One Bad, Drunken Decision In Their Lives. Called An Ex At Two In The Morning. Or Perhaps Has A Little Too Much To Drink On A Second Date And Wept Inconsolably While Revealing How Simply Damaged One Was, While Nonetheless Retaining An Uncommonly Large Capacity For Love. That Kind Of Thing Was, While Regrettable, At Least Comprehensible. But Waking Up With Someone Generationally Inappropriate, Like Your Grandfather's Best Buddy?

In The Same Way That A Tornado Rips The Roof Off A Double-wide Trailer, Leaving The Occupants Dazed And Staring At The Clouds From The Splinters Of What Used To Be Their Living Room, It Was Over.

As A Child, I Was Never Drawn Toward Depraved Or Extreme Situations; I Really Wanted A Normal Little Childhood. Unfortunately, That's Just Not What Happened.

And Human Instinct Is Ancient And Reliable, Utterly Mysterious And Possibly Capable Of Great Genius. I Believe That Refined, Fluent Instincts Are A Person's Most Valuable Asset. My Own Instincts Have Repeatedly Guided Me Against The Grain Of Logic And Probability. When I Have Trusted And Followed Their Direction, They Have Never Been Wrong. I Don't Know How Or Why. But I Know That Every Significant Experience-positive Or Negative-sharpens Them And Makes Them More Accurate.