It Occurred To Me That

You've Got The People You Know, Which Are Problematic. Always. They're Rich But They're Also Real People Living Their Lives Alongside You. Then You've Got The People That You Make-up Completely, Who Are Often Missing A Dimension If They Don't Have Some Reference To Real People. So Strangers Exist In This In-between Space, Where In Not Knowing Them, You Are Creating A Fiction For Them, Even In Passing, But At The Same Time, There They Are, With Their Actual Bodies And Their Actual Clothes. It's Totally Enticing.

Maybe That's Why People Take Pictures Of Themselves, To Avoid Being Described.

I Wrestle My Fears With Every Big Decision I Make. Ultimately, Maybe All That Wrestling Does Is Make You Sick Of Your Own Thoughts, And So With Nothing Resolved You Just Go Ahead And Have Unprotected Sex. The Moment I Became Pregnant, Everything Became Out Of Gait. None Of Those Fears Seem Relevant In The Same Way, And That's So Like Life, That Once You Do The Daring Move You're In A Totally Different Landscape. Now It's A New Story.

Nothing Really Mattered, And Nothing Could Be Lost.

I Don't Tally The World, Asking, "would This Annoy You? Would This Annoy You?" That's So Far Removed From Where I'm At When I'm In The Trenches Struggling With How To Express Things That I Don't Fully Understand Myself.