I Rarely Think About My Childhood. It's

He's A Very Strange Guy, My Father. I Can't Get Mad At Him Because He's So Adorable.

Ambition Is Exhausting. It Makes You Friends With People For The Wrong Reasons, Just Like Drugs.

I Rarely Cry. I Save My Feelings Up Inside Me Like I Have Something More Specific In Mind For Them. I Am Waiting For The Exact Perfect Situationand Then Boom! I'll Explode In A Light Show Of Feeling And Emotion - A Pinata Stuffed With Tender Nuances And Pent-up Passions

I Rarely Think About My Childhood. It's A Slippery Thing I Can't Keep Hold Of For Long - It Slithers Out Of My Grasp. And A Lot Of The Time I Remember What Was Missing Instead Of What Was There. I Am A Chronicler Of Absence.

I Am Not Going To Put My Daughter Under Any Sort Of Stresses.