This is my dance floor…

Some people have to dance.

Like my friend “Liz.”

It’s a matter of survival.

I have to WRITE.



You know who you are.

You get the emails.

Filled with paranoia and panic, exuberance and excitement, drama and delusion.

You know the ones I mean.

From now on, they’ll be posted here.

This is my dance floor.

Where I’ll soar and inevitably trip on the high heels I couldn’t really afford but bought anyways.

Where I’ll pick up my discombobulated self, dust off my knees and try to exit gracefully.



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