As A Novelist, I'm Incredibly

As A Novelist, I'm Incredibly Lucky To Make A Living, But That Doesn't Mean That I Don't Lie Awake At Four O'clock In The Morning, Worrying.

No, Friends Were Like Clothes: Fine While They Lasted But Eventually They Wore Thin Or You Grew Out Of Them.

It Would Be Inappropiate, Undignified, At 38, To Conduct Friendships Or Love Affairs With The Ardour Or Intensity Of A 22 Year Old. Falling In Love Like That? Writing Poetry? Crying At Pop Songs? Dragging People Into Photobooths? Taking A Whole Day To Make A Compilation Tape? Asking People If They Wanted To Share Your Bed, Just For Company? If You Quoted Bob Dylan Or Ts Eliot Or, God Forbid, Brecht At Someone These Days They Would Smile Politely And Step Quietly Backwards, And Who Would Blame Them? Ridiculous, At 38, To Expect A Song Or Book Or Film To Change Your Life.

Just Kidding' Was Exactly What People Wrote When They Meant Every Word.

He's A Better Person When She's Around, And Isn't That What Friends Are For, To Raise You Up And Keep You At Your Best?