Why I write and why I need you

It's your interest in my writing and your belief in my ability that keeps the inadequacies from swarming, those angry bees whose sting leads to sudden anger. I'm needy sometimes. I can admit that. But I can also pounce upon and devour small prey. I'm a cat. Give me a can of tuna or I will annoy you. I will trip you.

I draw from a reservoir of warm feeling. I fill myself with it. I bathe myself with my tongue, tongue meaning language (if only it didn't, if only through yoga). This enables me to balance base honesty (killing a rat) with a pleasant full life (playing with the rat carcass). It's love. I purr.

I've planted by hand a crop of ideas. They're my nip. I water them every morning because they are thirsty. We will see what flowers bloom and if they smell nice, and if they have psychoactive properties, and if I end up on the floor, hands in the air, giggling. That's what I write for.