I am locked into the mirror and there is no door out.

She looks like a china doll, observed Grandfather as we departed. I will break just as easily, I muttered.

I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?

Grandma frowned and yelled something in Russian. She could have been saying, 'Open up, your best friend is here.' On the other hand, it could have been, 'America is a great country because of canned ravioli.

Revision means throwing out the boring crap and making what’s left sound natural.

I smile and play pretend through the Morning Show in the kitchen.

Did you read last nights assignments?" Say "yes'" and get hammered again. Say "no'" and the same thing would happen.