I’m late to everything. I’ve always wanted to have it written in my will that when I die, the coffin shows up a half hour late and says on the side, like in gold, ‘Sorry I’m Late’.
Many times drugs and alcohol – there’s a technical term that they’re called, emotional suppressants – are the only things that can help a person survive and get through and be able to deal with their pain.
Let sleeping dogs lie or lying dogs sleep or whatever. Time to move on. People get divorced. Life doesn’t owe you your own personal happy ending especially at another’s, or in this case several others’, expense.
At times I enjoy writing and at others times I just hate it because it’s definitely having to go back and experience some pain and express what you really feel.
I’d just like to say that I have a personal disgust for small dogs, like poodles. I have some serious physical problems with them. Everything about them means I must kill them. I must.
In general I usually don’t really go by or live my life by a clock and outside of touring I don’t really ask anyone else to. It’s not out of lack of respect for anyone or intentional.
