Things I realized today:

somehow, someone attached my mother’s hands to my wrists

driving in a red car, very fast is fun

if you turn up the music loud enough, you can hear it in your heart

I may die

I may die before I write all the books I want to write

I may die before I write ANY of the books I want to write

I cannot make myself want it less

The critical voice I’m paying a therapist to evict is drinking tea in my living room

My hands may look like my mother’s but they not

There’re three ways to tie a shoe, one involves only the thumb

Theory of relativity does not equal numbers

Rewiring the brain: connect the blue wire to the red

I do not want you less

The critical voice is a red wire.

More is something only music understands

Narcissistic is a lovely word but she does not date well