I was talking with my mother today, or, rather, being chastised for not completing a sketch that she wanted me to finish.

“So, is drawing and stuff what you do to keep from drinking?”

“And stuff.”

“What else?”

“You know I’m writing a book, right?”

“No, but you certainly can do it! You’ve got the ability to put words into… words.”

“Clearly it’s not genetic.”

“Clearly,” she smiled.