I Drink Coffee. Without Coffee, I Probably

There's No Shortage Of Material In Life.

No One I Interact With - Except Maybe For Family And Strangers At The Russian Baths And Other Weird Places I May Go To - Is Just Friends Or Lovers With Me: They Also Know Something Of My Writing And This Distorts Their Take On Me.

Personally, I've Never Had It As A Goal In Life To Be Happy. Seems Impossible To Achieve. Even The Declaration Of Independence Seems To Acknowledge This. They Talk About The Pursuit Of Happiness, Not Happiness Itself.

I'm On The Verge Of A Total Breakdown. Sciatica. Taxes. Cars. Fleas, Possibly. It's An Absurd Existence.

After My First Novel, My Mother Said To Me, 'why Don't You Make Your Writing More Funny? You're So Funny In Person.' Because My First Novel Was Rather Dark. And I Don't Know, But Something About What She Said Was True. 'yes, Why Don't I?' Maybe I Was Afraid To Be Funny In The Writing. But Since Then, Seven Books Later, Almost Everything I've Done Has A Comedic Edge To It.