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I write when I'm wrestling. I write everywhere. I talk. I communicate in a myriad of different forms.
I recall when I met Mark, I remember joyfully (24 sweet years old) espousing to him that I no longer even needed my diary because I had him to talk to.
I remember eight years later writing on every scrap piece of paper in the house - writing - constantly writing - recording every thought in my head.
Trying to get it out and sort later... always later. I wrote on the computer too.
I recall also that time in los feliz where I couldn't read or write. I was the reluctant tiger in a smelly dark cage with the key tied around my paw.
Metaphor.
I sicken me. Now, when I think about not writing - It's more along the
lines of: I'm tired of masturbating.
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