I really am guilty, of many somethings, all of them lethal and very enjoyable and technically not quite legal.

Getting yelled at by a furious woman should be treated as a semiformal occasion.

A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal. I'm quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake it all. I fake it very well, and the feelings are never there.

But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.

For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.

The key to a happy life is to have accomplishments to be proud of and purpose to look forward to, and at the moment I had both. How wonderful it was to be me.