I Hid My Underwear Beneath A Parked

Even When I Was Living Below The Poverty Line As A Novelist, I Was Still Living Better Than 99.5% Of The Human Population Of The World. But In My Little, Soft Realm Of Trying To Amuse A Few Dozen Middle-class People With My Books And Articles, I Did Struggle To Survive In My Own Way.

I Didn't Think I Was In A Morbid Mood, But It Appears I Am. My Mind Goes Round And Round Trying To Figure Things Out, But I Always Come Back To The Same Two Things: Loneliness And Death. Life Ends Before We Figure Anything Out, Most Importantly How Not To Be Lonely. Solitude Is Fine. But Feeling Like You Have No One To Love - Abject Lonliness - Is Not Alright.

Something Has Happened Where You Almost Never Grow Up In America. Maybe It's The Greater Wealth.

A Lot Of Readers Have Actually Helped Me, Been Really Sweet To Me... So Maybe My Cry For Help Has Sometimes Been Answered.

For Me, Books Have Always Been A Way To Feel Less Alone While Being Alone.