When I was a little boy, I went to sleep almost every night making up stories in my head. I was always the hero.
By the time I was old enough to start liking girls and wanting their attention — about fifth grade, it seems — my stories were mostly about being heroic for a girl. I had a crush on a classmate named Wendy, so she was the metaphorical princess and I was the knight on a white horse.
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was setting a pattern for much of my life.
I wanted to feel special. I craved the attention and admiration of one woman. Over the years, the identity of that woman changed. of course. When I did something I thought might impress her, I wanted the crowds to love me, but only because that meant she would see.
I wanted her to think I was special. I wanted her to love me for that.

Private property ownership is just an illusion in this country today
An emotional vampire craves you, but he doesn’t know how to love
Little girl’s face and colorful sky have power to pierce my heart
I was a terrible preacher, because cookie-cutter truth seemed empty
Money isn’t evil, but obsession with it brings out worst in us
FRIDAY FUNNIES
If you’ve gotten on the wrong bus, nothing changes until you get off