Do I Mind Being Called

I've Never Made A Secret Of The Fact That I'd Have Loved To Have Children.

Slasher Hathaway Marks His Territory By Spending Money. He Might As Well Have Pissed On Her. It Means Nothing.

People Get Sick And Sometimes They Get Better And Sometimes They Don't. And It Doesn't Matter If The Sickness Is Cancer Or If It's Depression. Sometimes The Drugs Work And Sometimes They Don't. Sometimes The Drugs Work For A While And Then They Stop. Sometimes The Alternative Stuff Works And Sometimes It Doesn't. And Sometimes You Wonder If No Outside Interference Makes Any Difference At All; If An Illness Is Like A Storm, If It Simply Has To Run Its Course And, At The End Of It, Depending On How Robust You Are, You Will Be Alive. Or You Will Be Dead.

The Back Windows Looked Out Over The Fields, Then The Atlantic, Maybe A Hundred Yards Away. Actually, I'm Just Making That Bit Up. I Had No Idea How Far Away The Sea Was. Only Men Could Do Things Like That. "half A Mile." "fifty Yards." Giving Directions, That Sort Of Thing. I Could Look At A Woman And Say "thirty-six C." Or "let's Try It In The Next Size Up." But I Had No Idea How Far Away Tim's Sea Was Except That I Wouldn't Want To Walk To It In High Heels.

I Wished There Was Some Kind Of Switch On My Brain. That I Could Turn It Off In The Same Way That I Could Turn Off The Television. Just Click It Off And Immediately Empty My Mind Of All These Images And Worrying Thoughts. And Simply Leave A Blank Screen. Or If I Could Just Remove My Head And Put It On The Bedside Table And Forget About It Until Morning. And Then Attach It Again When I Needed It.