Every once in a while, in order not to drown in paper, piles of paper, piles of files, binders, bookies and banker boxes stuffed with wretched poems I composed when I was nineteen and drunkenly besotted with the first major love of my life, I sort. Essentially, I re-pile and refile. Today, though, I got two things accomplished: I tossed into the recycle bin six pieces of paper!, and I set aside five more that had some redeemable thoughts written on them. I guess they're my own thoughts, since they're not attributed to anyone ... and a few are in quotation marks, so I might have over-/heard them in conversation. When did I jot these epiphanies down? Wow! I said what!? ...
I doubt everything except my own doubt!
"Aquatic technician = dish washer = me"
My cats know that I'm a good person, even when I don't.
Poetry is music set to words.
Cancer might be DNA's way of telling us, "You mess with me and I'll mess with you!"
Everything comes to those who wait ... especially the leftovers of those who hustle.
Time lags ... then runs out.
I'd better get back to those piles, eh? I'm so proud of myself -- five fewer scraps of paper to stash away for another decade or so! I'm on a roll! And look -- even more! ...
I finally have enviously reedy ankles, and no one to show them off to.
You will know what matters most by losing nearly all.
'Working stiff' is not an oxymoron.
Childhood: when every day was a storm of light from dawn to dusk, and every night a sheet of stars.
Of course we live to eat. It's how we stay alive.
The power-mad don't want to lead; they want to take.
After the Weiner scandal -- Two sectors, it seems: public service and pubic service.
When we say, "I'm losing it," what is the "it" we are losing?
My cat saves my life -- how? She captures my attention.
Never assume intimacy with another person -- especially your spouse.
"She's not one of the prettiest women I know ... but she is the most beautiful."
Pay attention, or pay with your life.
"I didn't leave my marriage; I was taken from it."
I don't seem to have much left in this life but the pen I rode in on.
Actions speak louder than words ... and handwriting, loudest of all.