My life is like a lone, forgotten Q-Tip in the second-to-last drawer.
I like birds and dogs. I'm allergic to cats.
I like the community of acting better than the prison of writing. I like sets.
My father just got out of the Betty Ford Clinic. He's in his 60s, and this was the first time he ever did anything like that.
Then I overdosed at 28, at which point I began to accept the bipolar diagnosis.
All I know is that you can chop up all the onions and the whatevers you want and put it on top of caviar, but you still can't disguise the fact that you're eating fish eggs. Ugh!