At The Time We’re Stuck In It,

The Thing Under My Bed Waiting To Grab My Ankle Isn't Real. I Know That, And I Also Know That If I'm Careful To Keep My Foot Under The Covers, It Will Never Be Able To Grab My Ankle.

Everything Is Sort Of Built In A Way That To Me Suggests Intelligent Design. But At The Same Time, There's A Lot Of Things In Life Where You Say To Yourself, Well, If This Is God's Plan, It's Very Peculiar. And You Have To Wonder About That Guy's Personality, The Big Guy's Personality.

Wanting More Is Just A Recipe For Heartache.

Tracking Account Planning Is Rather Like Counting A Mixed Batch Of Tropical Fish. You Think You See Patterns, But They've All Changed By The Time You've Finished Counting.

And All That Weirdness Isn't Just Going On Outside. It's In You Too, Right Now, Growing In The Dark Like Magic Mushrooms. Call It The Thing In The Cellar. Call It The Blow Lunch Factor. Call It The Loony Tunes File. I Think Of It As My Private Dinosaur, Huge, Slimy, And Mindless, Stumbling Around In The Stinking Swamp Of My Subconscious, Never Finding A Tar Pit Big Enough To Hold It.