I’ve been trying to get in contact with Danny for the last couple of days. It is to him I always turn when I start to feel myself slipping again.
He never offers me advice. He never tells me things are going to be OK.
He never lies to me with that sort of drudgery. We just talk. I can be me without the worries.
I suppose he’s like a drug. And a fine job of it he does.
Danny or booze?
I’d take Danny any day, if he’d only pick up his goddamn phone.
One thing I learned from “Knocked Up” last night: You cannot eat sushi while pregnant.
Well then, I guess that rules out being pregnant. Forever.
When I’m not feeling like myself, it feels like such a disaster. As if my soul is becoming unhinged.