I forced myself to ride the exercise bike for at least 30 minutes and did a series of weights afterwards. With each rep, I seethed with anger.
All the "Just For Men" hair dye commercials and black birthday balloons with tombstones on them can't shake me.
We're all artists who can't enjoy our own work because we see the errors that no one else does.
You stop caring about what people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.
Enlightened as I was, there was nowhere further to go. I had been a horrible person, needed to repent, and that was the end of the story.
Chris's death devastated me. Even now as I write this 13 years later, I have a hard time expressing my feelings about it.