I've always been outspoken about the fact that I have no care for material things. I'm not going to post a picture of being inside a fancy jet. It doesn't mean anything to me. But I find it funny that - in an organic way - sometimes I find myself in this room with these wealthy businessmen drinking thousand dollar bottles of wine because of where I've gotten in my career.
I was most confusedly in love. . . . Even though I resolved not to think of him, his face would keep appearing between me and a book I tried to read, or his voice would suddenly sound instead of the words I tried to write on a page. . . . I found love annoying and uncomfortable, like fetters, until I got used to it.