I'm Being Made Aware Of My Mortality

My Mother Was French Protestant, And My Father Was Italian Catholic, And Their Union Was An Excess Of God, Guilt And Sauce.

She Had Been So Consumed With Escaping Her Own Misery, She Hadn't Considered The Misery She Might Inflict.

A Book With The Genuine Power To Stir And Comfort Its Readers.

I Thought About The Days I Had Handed Over To A Bottle..the Nights I Can't Remember..the Mornings I Slept Thru..all The Time Spent Running From Myself.

So Many Times I Feel I'm Using The Same Words Over And Over, Like A Woman Wearing The Same Dress Every Day. So Boring!