I've tried everything. I've done therapy, I've done colonics. I went to a psychic who had me running around town buying pieces of ribbon to fill the colors in my aura. Did the Prozac thing.
My life is not unlike Truman's. I can't go anywhere.
What I have in common with the character in 'Truman' is this incredible need to please people. I feel like I want to take care of everyone and I also feel this terrible guilt if I am unable to. And I have felt this way ever since all this success started.
It is better to risk starving to death then surrender. If you give up on your dreams, what's left?
It's hard for anybody who's been with me not to feel starved for affection when I'm making love to my ideas. Maybe it's not meant for me to settle down and be married.
I'm the first to admit this whole salary thing is getting out of control. In the final analysis, it's still about the work.