Fear crawls under my skin and grabs my chest with an iron fist just watching anything with a foot chase.
There will never be enough hours in the day for procrastination or time for sleep each night.
I don’t know how to make myself create when I’m not ready, but when I don’t, I feel like I will explode. Like the politician from X-Men when Magneto mutates him with a blast.
If I had male children they would get a horrible hereditary disease. My genes are a curse for those who come after me.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t really love my old partners. I didn’t know any better.
It’s really hard for me to connect with the fact that I’m going to die. It seems like my life is a movie I’m watching and ignoring the eventual ending I’ve already seen because I want to be surprised.
Working with children feels more like a gift to me and my life than a job. Children understand the things they need to and tell their own pure truth. It’s hard and magical to spend days with them, as I imagine advanced potion-making at Hogwarts must be.
People follow rituals to shorten the gap of time between them and the vast number of others who lived before.