As I Rolled Over, Stretching Out, My

How Ballsy It Was To Just Assume You Know, With One Glance, The Things Another Person Could Live Without. As If It Was The Same For Everyone, That Simple.

Maybe, You Just Misplaced It, You Know? It's Been There. But You Just Haven't Been Looking In The Right Spot. Because Lost Means Forever, It's Gone. But Misplaced... That Means It's Still Around, Somewhere. Just Not Where You Thought.

And I Felt Comfort. Finally. All I'd Wanted For So Long Was For Someone To Explain Everything That Had Happened To Me In This Same Way. To Label It Neatly On A Page: This Leads To This Leads To This. I Knew, Deep Down, It Was More Complicated Than That, But Watching Jason, I Was Hopeful. He Took The Mess That Was Macbeth And Fixed It, And I Had To Wonder If He Might, In Some Small Way, Be Able To Do The Same For Me. So I Moved Myself Closer To Him, And I'd Been There Ever Since.

Just Because Someone's Pretty, Doesn't Mean She's Decent.

Usually When I Finish The Draft Of A Book, I'm Sure I'll Never Write Another One. I'm Just That Tired And Sick Of Myself. But Then Another Idea Starts Percolating. It Usually Begins With The Narrator's Name, Then Some Idea That Intrigues Me About Her Life Or Situation. I Try To Ignore It As Long As I Can, Because I Know When I Start Writing, I'll Be Right Back Into It, Every Single Day. But Eventually, I Just Have To. It's A Compulsion!