I never thought I would live this long. I never imagined it. I have never written a character older than twenty-five; I have never fallen asleep with a woman older than twenty-five. And every year I have tried to drag myself screaming into the implacable blackness of death. And every year I have failed.
So here I sit, staring twenty-five in the face. I am suffering, I am being crushed, I am lonely and I am weak.
But if twenty-five years have proven anything, they have proven that “tenacious” is the word that is carved into my spine.