January 2012

The game of attracting readers is fun, but the real point is simpler: writing reminds me I’m alive.

You never know who you’ll find at a swing party on a stormy Thursday night.

Some things, even on this blog, are private.

An “exercise pad” at the hourly hotel. We didn’t notice it until we were on our way out.

Jealousy, envy, and the fear of being superfluous.

A 99% match, two thousand miles away, and a hundred-mile drive that better end in more than a meeting.

Sometimes, bossing people around gets exhausting. Sometimes, you just want to kneel.

L and I are starting a contest to see whose blog does better — metrics, prizes, punishments, the whole deal. She’s worried I’ll kick her ass. I’m still figuring out the prizes.

Sex at Dawn told me what I wanted to hear, which is exactly why I didn’t trust it.

She wasn’t much to look at, but her mouth ruined me for everyone else.