taken away to “anywhere right now”

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What point is there to life, if I can’t write freely? What point is there to writing, if I can’t tell you how happy I am this morning?

You admire my restraint? Bad, bad girl. You’re like a cat not wanting little booties on its paws. Kittys should be open hearted?

I’m a knitter, too, inwordly.

You can be the most delightful person I’ve ever met my whole life.

Call that a failure of my youth?

Yeah, I can live with that, for there’s always tomorrow, years ahead, and fiction.

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