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To act or not to act: That is the question.

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This was not what I’d planned for my life…

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If I could, I would insert approximately infinity pages right here, printed with nothing but the words “Hahahaha! Hahahaha!” over and over again forever.

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Sunglasses on, I sweated down the jet way toward the plane. Until, climactically, I turned and ran back into the airport, only to barf in a dramatic explosion scene — right in front of the ticket counter.

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I look at a girl’s silky legs, firm shoulders, striking collar bones, rational hair, and I am angry at her; I truly despise her.

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A week ago I was a little over tipsy and I asked a male friend to grab my boob. He said no. I am not sure if it’s because he is a gentlemen or because the thought of it disgusted him.

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I was floating through space, I was in a world I’d never seen before, I was wrapped up in a blanket on the floor of a strange bedroom.

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I had dreamt of meeting him for as long as I could remember. I had all these fantasies about us being buddies. And once he met me, then surely he’d want to be buddies too. Of course, why wouldn’t he?

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The next day I went to meet someone I needed to tell something. It was raining in Williamsburg. Kids ran past McCarren Park smiling, no umbrellas, soaked. I had a little collapsible black thing she gave me last summer when I lived in Brooklyn and we were still seeing each other.

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I could always tell what kind of mood Nancy was in based on her tail and her pupils — tall and thin pupils meant she was peaceful, fat pupils meant she was distressed, thin tail and thin eyes meant she was plotting, bushy tail and big eyes meant she was out for blood. And with the other cats around, she usually was.