I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.
The cop looks annoyed, like we're giving him a headache. I want to explain everything to him that its really not as screwed up as it all sounds, but then I remember that it is.
I may not beleive in God, but I believe in guilt and no one wants to dick around with eternity, even if it isn't there.
I lost something after Hailey died. I'm not sure what to call it, but it's the device that stops ypu from telling the truth when people ask you how you're doing, that vital valve that keeps you deeper, truer emotions under lock and key. I don't know ...
Pity, I've learned, is like a fart. You can tolerate your own, but you simply can't stand anyone else's.
I love Hailey and what we have works. Shes's beautiful, she's smart, she's a great mother, and she's heads above what I ever thought I could see in myself.
But we are not going to talk about that right now, because to talk about it I'll have to think about it, and I've thought it to death over the last year. There are parts of my brain that are still tirelessly thinking about it, about her, an entire re...
The tears come to my eyes so fast, there's just no way to stop them.
She got on a plane to see a client in California and somewhere over Colorado, the pilot somehow missed the sky.
