I Love To Write, So It Rarely

I Normally Can't Stand Vice-free People. They Conflate A Narcissistic Instinct For Self-preservation With Moral Superiority. Plus, They Suck The Life Right Out Of A Party.

I Held Her, He Wanted To Say, And If I Knew For Certain That All It Would Take To Hold Her Again Would Be To Die, Then I Couldn't Raise The Gun To My Head Fast Enough.

It Had Occurred To Sean Once - On A Bender About Ten Years Before With Some Buddies, Sean And A Bloodstream Full Of Bourbon Turning Philosophical - That Maybe They Had Gotten In That Car. All Three Of Them. And What They Now Thought Of As Their Life Was Just A Dream State. That All Three Of Them Were, In Reality, Still Eleven-year-old Boys Trapped In Some Cellar, Imagining What They'd Become If They Ever Escaped And Grew Up.

Life Isn't Happily Ever After... It's Work. The Person You Love Is Rarely Worthy Of How Big Your Love Is. Because No One Is Worthy Of That And Maybe No One Deserves That Burden Of It, Either. You'll Be Let Down. You'll Be Disappointed And Have Your Trust Broken And Have A Lot Of Real Sucky Days. You Lose More Than You Win. You Hate The Person You Love As Much As You Love Him. But You Roll Up Your Sleeves And Work - At Everything - Because That's What Growing Older Is.

I Won The Parental Lottery. Most Of The Kids I Grew Up With Either Came From Really Fractured Homes, Or Really Violent Ones. I Went Home To A Very Traditional, Good Irish Catholic Family.