There Is No Grief Like

Inevitably I Draw On My Own Relationships When I Write, So If I'm Writing About A Fight Between A Husband And His Wife, Of Course I'm Going To Think About A Recent Fight With My Husband. Or If I'm Writing About Sisters, Of Course I'm Going To Think About My Sister.

But I Am Learning That Perfection Isn't What Matters. In Fact, It's The Very Thing That Can Destroy You If You Let It.

I Think Some Of The Biggest Time Sucks Are Regret And Guilt, And I Have To Fight Against Those Things All The Time. In A Way, It's A Good Thing, Because It Can Motivate You To Make Amends And Forgive, But Regrets Are Really, I Think, A Supreme Waste Of Time In Many Ways.

He Was Uncomplicated And Upbeat And Easy. At One Point, I Might Have Thought These Traits Made Him A Simpleton, But Now I Think They Just Translate To Happiness.

Then He Continues His Rant,saying, "and Even If I Didn't Know Them, I Know Their Type." "and What Type Is That?" She Asks,leaning Foward In Her Chair,yearning For Confirmation That He Gets It,that They Are Like-minded In Their Observations Of Others And The Circumspect Way They View The World. "oh,let's See," He Says,rubbing His Jaw. "superficial.artificial.sheep. They're More Worried About How They Come Across To Others Than Who They Really Are.they Exhaust Themselves In Their Pursuit Of Things That Don't Really Matter.