May 18, 2011

  • I have this friend in a wheelchair who writes the most awful stories, but I always spent hours editing them for him because he was in a wheelchair, as if that thing should've protected him from his terrible writing and uninteresting, unfocused stories. As if it were my job to do the protecting, as if he weren't a full-grown, intelligent man. He wanted to write a book. I'd think, he can't run anymore, he can't even really speak well anymore, I should at least let him go places with his pen.

    I'm sorry, Jeff. With anyone else I wouldn't have worked so hard, and that would've made me a truer friend.

    Truthfully, though, I hope he's still writing.