I feel like a lot of life is distasteful and embarrassing. And you just push through it. You fix what you can, and you let time pass.

I like it when characters are some combination of appealing and maybe flawed or self-interested. I think in terms of scenes, and what I want a scene to achieve, and I think that the psychological realism arises from that.

Ordinarily, of course, I thought it best to remain inconspicuous, but the gesture had a certain irresistable theatricaility, and an inevitablility. Sometimes you can feel the pull of what other people want from you, and you sacrifice yourself, you risk seeming odd or sunsavory, to keep them entertained.

But I never thought of who he wasn't, I never had to explain or defend him to myself, I didn't even care what we talked about.

..and I thought how liking a boy was just the same as believing you wanted to know a secret - everything was better when you were denied and could feel tormented by curiousity or loneliness. But the moment of something happening was treacherous. It was just so tiring to have to worry about whether your face was peeling, or to have to laugh at stories that weren’t funny.

I'm able to separate fiction and reality. I guess it remains to be seen if other people are.

Foolish names and foolish faces often appear in public places.