Did you ever look into the personalities of male cooks, Army, logging camp, etc.? They're all supposed to be crazy, incomprehensible, contemptible. And angry. The act of feeding adult males seems to have strange personality effects.

I cannot teach -- if I teach as teaching should be I become so exhausted I nearly die, I seem to have no middle gear.

Anyone who shoots a real gun at you when drunk and angry is simply not husband material, regardless of his taste in literature.

Being, I imagine, must be very simple. It is Becoming which is so messy and which I am all for.

And here is our girl, looking-- If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)

Any chance beats no chance.

Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.