I used to write letters all the time. Not emails, actual hand-written letters. I haven't done that in awhile.
I need to find Off or something similar for dogs. Lucy Liu hasn't had a peaceful poo since the two weeks of winter.
I haven't seen George and Gracie in awhile. The Red Tide is keeping me away from the beach.
I don't think I can do 50,000 words in 30 days. I tried and failed miserably last November. I prefer short form. I'm better at it. Maybe I can whip up 30 short stories in 30 days. Maybe.
A lot of times I write things and toss them because it occurs to me that maybe I am a little less sane than I pretend to be. And yes, I really do pretend to be sane. If you knew the shit that flies around my head mush you might run for the hills.
Rudy is talking to himself. She says, are you winning the argument?
Rudy says, of course. But Rudy isn't arguing so much as he is giving instructions of where to hide the body parts.
It's a weird thing, suicide. It's like you decide, okay, this is where my story ends. And then the rest of the world you built get...
One of the best things in life is the sadness that comes with goodbye. If it's a goodbye filled with tears and the kind of hugs that go ...