The gift from my Secret Santa wasn't anything special. That makes me sad. I bet you anything that Mary Elizabeth is my Secret Santa because only she would give me socks.

It’s much easier not to know things sometimes. And to have french fries with your mom be enough.

It's strange because sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book.

I've never understood the need people have to dictate morality to other people. I really don't know what it is. I don't know if it's fear or the belief that they know the only right way. Or maybe they see a lot of social ills and social decline, and they really think they have the elixir for it.

It's strange to describe reading a book as a really great experience, but that's kind of how it felt.

And even if she says no, and really means yes, then quite frankly she's playing games and isn't worth the price of dinner.

On Friday night, I was reading my new book, but my brain got tired, so I decided to watch some television instead.