Safe Haven

I ended up writing a long rant yesterday, provoked by Dr. Anthony Bradley, professor of Ethics and Theology [?] at King's College in NYC. It's one of those things you read and say, "Is it wise to publish this?" No. And I consider him a friend. But sir, I want it known that I love you, but you irritate me. [grin] Just so you know, I don't care how famous you get; remember, I thought you were a student when I first met you.

It's raining like the dickens at my house. I know what you're wondering: "Is it raining like Charles Dickens [morose and oppressive] or like country music legend Little Jimmy Dickens [small, but kinda fun]?" We'll go with a Jimmy rain. Random Unprovoked Song Lyrics Break: "She's my kinda rain/Like love from a drunken sky/Confetti fallin' down all night/She's my kinda rain." I kick myself every single day for not writing that song. I've never heard a more interesting collection of similes in such an accessible form in my brief life. Anyway, I was out with a friend tonight talking about the future, and I admitted to myself and to her that I want to write. It makes me happy. I know that more discipline is required if I am to make a life of it; I also know that I'm too pleased with what I create; Like Pilate, I say, "What I have written, I have written." Hey Anne, if you happen to read this, all the parts of "The Woods"