quicksand's got no sense of humor

When I'm enraged, there's no better feeling than writing an angry email.

The blood rises, the speeches form, and I realize: to properly capture how annoyed I am, I need to write this down. And not just anywhere. Someone needs to read it.

I think this is why Christina and I have remained friends since our first year of living together at college. Life strikes and boom, we click the "New" tab and get rolling. The novel floweth.

I can organize and rearrange, use all the background and "evidential stories" that I wish, cut repetition, add zinging lines I wish I could say out loud, and have an immediate audience that will still like me afterwards. Then I can reread and feel satisfaction in the narrative. "That's right!" I'll think.

So coherent! So clean! So unlike the way I would speak about such things!