You Can Miss A Lot

I, On The Other Hand, Believe That Books, Maps, Scissors, And Scotch Tape Dispensers Are All Unreliable Vagrants, Likely To Take Off For Parts Unknown Unless Strictly Confined To Quarters.

Something Amazing Happens When The Rest Of The World Is Sleeping. I Am Glued To My Chair. I Forget That I Ever Wanted To Do Anything But Write. The Crowded City, The Crowded Apartment, And The Crowded Calendar Suddenly Seem Spacious. Three Or Four Hours Pass In A Moment; I Have No Idea What Time It Is, Because I Never Check The Clock. If I Chose To Listen, I Could Hear The Swish Of Taxis Bound For Downtown Bars Or The Soft Saxophone Riffs That Drift From A Neighbor's Window, But Nothing Gets Through. I Am Suspended In A Sensory Deprivation Tank, And The Very Lack Of Sensation Is Delicious.

I'd Rather Have A Book, But In A Pinch I'll Settle For A Set Of Water Pik Instructions.

Pen-bereavement Is A Serious Matter.

Anyone Who Doubts That Caffeine Is A Drug Should Read Some Of The Prose Composed Under Its Influence.