Call It Crazy, Or Just

Well, It's True That I Have Been Hurt In My Life. Quite A Bit. But It's Also True That I Have Loved, And Been Loved. And That Carries A Weight Of Its Own. A Greater Weight, In My Opinion. It's Like That Pie Chart We Talked About Earlier. In The End, I'll Look Back On My Life And See That The Greatest Piece Of It Was Love. The Problems, The Divorces, The Sadness... Those Will Be There Too, But Just Smaller Slivers, Tiny Pieces.

I Think Whenever A Writer Is Really Enjoying Themselves And Liking What They Are Doing, That Shows On The Page.

I'm Really Interested In The Idea Of Anomynity And Familiarity. And Sunglasses, You Know, Are So Indicatitve Of That. I Mean, They're Worn By Some People To Hide Themselves. But They're Also A Fashion Statement, Meant To Be Noticed. So There's A Dichotomy There.

But If Everything Was Always Smooth And Perfect, You'd Get Too Used To That, You Know? You Have To Have A Little Bit Of Disorganization Now And Then. Otherwise, You'll Never Really Enjoy It When Things Go Right.

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.