He crawled onto the couch and put his head on my lap, curling his arms around my thigh. We watched almost fearfully as we had seen him this drunk before but never this… whatever it is you can call this. He murmured in a scolded voice: ‘Mommy, why won’t you look at me mommy? If you loved me you’d…
‘Why do you write such sad things?’, she said to me.
And I replied as best I could:
“Well, my dear, you see, I write about what I feel, and I feel sadness surrounding me. Whether or not this is a reflection of my state of existence is irrelevant, because, even if I do not classify myself as happy with my life, it is my life and I will act, feel, and celebrate it as I so rightly see fit, even when I have nothing worth celebrating and especially when I have nothing worth mentioning.’