Only later do you realize how similar she is to your mother. About the same height. Dark complexion and brown hair. The same smoldering temper. She gives you a hard time the same, like when you blush when you make a really dirty joke. “You’re turning all red. Oh, you’re so cute.” And just like your mother, you cuddle with her.
Anything a person does is more a reflection of themselves than the outside world.
Just like sex and drugs, the escape of drama and turmoil can consume you. We lose ourselves in it the same way.
Obviously, the course of such negative and Thantonical cognitions could lead to suicide, which is horrible.
I remember so vividly my mom’s love for me, her warm smile, her sweet words; she may have been wearing jeans and a red shirt, but that could just be me. It must have been during the day, in the smaller theatre away from the mall.
But Franklyn likes to party. He loves it.
3. Actually work and try and not to think of yourself, but it is there—depression and a wish for this pain to stop.
And he was wearing this yellow flannel like Bob Marley had in some of his live performances, and I was totally tripping like I was watching Bob Marley.
It’s for humor!
Can you live-blog into a word document?