100 words each day:

Remember, I wrote that song? What was it – 11 years ago? Favor. Well, I just wanted to say that you did me a favor too. Thank you for not taking me back that day I called you from CA. Thank you for breaking my heart a million times over and not being who you said you were, because, in the end, you were not what I needed. I saw your band media today and my first thought was “Now there is someone else who will have to listen to all his complaints about his life that, frankly, is fine.” _____________________________________________

some of it will have to be lies. that’s the way it is now. the deeper truth is that I am fine. but when they read it (and they will) they will read it their way, with their secrets being fed by their wild imaginations. I know. I would probably listen to a song and think – did he write it about me? did he? did he really?
being a writer is like being a doctor, I suppose. everyone who watches you work hopes they are The Exception. good or bad. we humans are so needy. even those who aren’t.
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I read Post Secret every Sunday night. Then I try to think of what my best Secret is. Usually what I come up with isn’t a real secret because I have already written about it at one time or another. But there are a few things that I don’t want to write on paper because that would be admitting the truth to myself, never mind the thousands of readers. Maybe I’m not a good candidate for PS anyway because if I ever tell my secrets, I would want them to be found and valued by another who really understands me.
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I long for anonymity. you would think that after all this time, all these lines, I could finally be free. but who – who is really free? dead people are free.
maybe that is what those suicide men are thinking. their portraits flashed on our morning news. “who are those men?” free men, maybe. no more trying to live up to someone else’s design of happiness.
if I could ask hunter, I doubt he would say he was free. freedom here is always fighting against the grain. it’s always that swim up the river. the thin skinned warriors that we are.
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They say she looks nothing like me and I’m fine with that. She’s part of me, so hey, you can’t change that. And her personality – a no holds barred range of facial expression, giving mercy to no one – well, I’ll take credit for that. She screams, I scream. She laughs a great belly laugh and I mimic her, but REALLY laugh. If there comes a time when I do not want to hug her and kiss her, I’ll let you know. Even when she’s bad, she’s so very good. See? She has my soul, she has our hope.
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family is very complicated. I am now tempted to be done with procreating, if only to have one less person to please. the phone rings non-stop here. I’ve not been answering it lately. I need my peace. I need to postpone the line outside my office door. the sign reads “Love to Everyone, Miss you much.” But I feel there is a country of people waiting outside, waiting their turn.
I want to call in sick or take a vacation from being me. I want to blame the boss for my inability to do my job. Hello me. You’re fired.