The Key, I Suppose, Has Less To

Dogs Are Fantasies That Don't Disappoint.

I've Always Been Drawn To Solitude, Felt A Kind Of Luxurious Relief In Its Self-generated Pace And Rhythms.

When You're Starving Or Wrapped Up In A Cycle Of Binge-ing-and-purging, Or Sexually Obsessed With (someone), It Is Very Hard To Think About Anything Else, Very Hard To See The Larger Picture Of Options That Is Your Life, Very Hard To Consider What Else You Might Need Or Want Or Fear Were You Not So Intently Focused On One Crushing Passion. I Sat In My Room Every Night, With Rare Exceptions, For Three And A Half Years.

Fall In Love With A Dog, And In Many Ways You Enter A New Orbit, A Universe That Features Not Just New Colors But New Rituals, New Rules, A New Way Of Experiencing Attachment.

Solitude Is A Breeding Ground For Idiosyncrasy, And I Relish That About It, The Way It Liberates Whim.