But You Only Get So Many Do-overs

I'd Known Enough People For Every Minute Of The Day, And Yet Still Didn't Have Anyone As My Two A.m.

Everything, In The End, Comes Down To Timing. One Second, One Minute, One Hour, Could Make All The Difference. So Much Hanging On Just These Things, Tiny Increments That Together Build A Life. Like Words Build A Story, And What Had Ted Said? One Word Can Change The Entire World.

Usually When I Finish The Draft Of A Book, I'm Sure I'll Never Write Another One. I'm Just That Tired And Sick Of Myself. But Then Another Idea Starts Percolating. It Usually Begins With The Narrator's Name, Then Some Idea That Intrigues Me About Her Life Or Situation. I Try To Ignore It As Long As I Can, Because I Know When I Start Writing, I'll Be Right Back Into It, Every Single Day. But Eventually, I Just Have To. It's A Compulsion!

A Second Later, When He Looked Up At Me, We Were Face To Face, And Again, Even Under These Circumstances, I Was Struck By How Good Looking He Was, In That Accidental, Doesn't-even-know-it Kind Of Way. Which Only Made It Worse. Or Better. Or Whatever. "yup", He Said, As If There'd Been Any Doubt, "you're In There, All Right." "i Was Warned, Too,"i Told Him, As He Stood Up. "i Just Saw That Sculpture, And I Got Distracted." "the Sculpture?" He Looked At It, Then At Me. "oh, Right. Because You Know It.

I'm Sorry," I Heard Him Say Again. Then, Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, I Saw A Sudden Blur Of Movement As He Slid Out Of His Seat, Left Some Bills For The Breakfast He Wouldn't Eat, And Walked Away. And As He Did, I Thought Again Of Those Mornings In The Hallway At School, Way Back In Ninth Grade. Everything Had Started In Such Sharp Detail, Each Aspect Pronounced And Clear. Obviously, Endings Were Different. Harder To See, Full Of Shapes That Could Be One Thing Or Another, With All The Things That You Were Once So Sure Of Suddenly Not Familiar, If They Were Even Recognizable At All.