He Could Not Wait To Get Rid

I Have Written Letters That Are Failures, But I Have Written Few, I Think, That Are Lies. Trying To Reach A Person Means Asking The Same Question Over And Over Again: Is This The Truth, Or Not? I Begin This Letter To You, Then, In The Western Tradition. If I Understand It, The Western Tradition Is: Put Your Cards On The Table.

I Wanted To Be A Veterinarian, But Slipped Up When I Hit Organic Chemistry.

I Had A Mother I Could Only Seem To Please With Verbal Accomplishments Of Some Sort Or Another. She Read Constantly, So I Read Constantly. If I Used Words That Might Have Seemed Surprising At A Young Age, She Would Recognize That And It Would Please Her.

All Those Years On The Psychiatrist's Couch And Suddenly The Couch Is Moving. Good God, She Is On That Couch When The Big One Hits. Maidy Didn't Tell You, But You Know What Her Doctor Said? She Sprang From The Couch And Said, "my God, Was That An Earthquake?" The Doctor Said This: "did It Feel Like An Earthquake To You?

I Told Him About The Way They Get To Know You. Not The Way People Do, The Way They Flatter You By Wanting To Know Every Last Thing About You, Only It Isn't A Compliment, It Is Just Efficient, A Person Getting More Quickly To The End Of You. Correction - Dogs Do Want To Know Every Last Thing About You. They Take In The Smell Of You, They Know From The Next Room, Asleep, When A Mood Settles Over You. The Difference Is There's Not An End To It.