And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally pieces falling into place.

All those clean, fresh starts had made me forget what it was like, until now, to be messy and honest and out of control. To be real.

It wasn’t so much that I was positive. I just wasn’t fully subscribing to such a negative way of thinking anymore.

I think I'm too lazy a writer to do something like historical fiction. You have to do so much research. I just write what I know.

I was bored. Sad. Lonely. It was only a matter of time before I cracked.

For two hours I'd felt myself stretching tighter and tighter, like a rubber band pulled to the point of snapping. And now, I could feel the smaller, weaker part of myself beginning to fray, tiny bits giving way before the big break.

Look, the point is there's no way to be a hundred percent sure about anyone or anything. So you're left with a choice. Either hope for the best or just expect the worst.