I try to remember that I can come back. That I can have a night like this again, tomorrow maybe.
It was a long, idyllic weekend and every night I still felt that same familiar creep.
In the passenger seat of a car somewhere in this city at night and I am thinking: “This is the best time I’ve ever listened to The Replacements.”
Fuck yeah Anne Sexton.
A truly insane thing I am doing right now is that there is a container of peanut butter cups in my cupboard.
I wish there was a way to force everyone on the planet to read ‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck’.
I didn’t expect my mailbox to be so chilling.
Think about the kind of life you want to have and what kind of writing career would fit into that without having to win the writing career lottery.
This is about the way I did the brave thing. This is about the way I liked him when I didn’t deserve to like someone like him.
What if you just accepted, for this moment, that you do not have to be perfect?