I would never steer a fellow sufferer from the relief of a blackout.
I walk a loop around the neighborhood, waiting for Nick to appear, to guide me back to our house. The rain spackles me gently, dampening me. I really believe Nick will come after me. I turn toward the...
I sat at the bottom of the bathtub, humiliated, trying not to cry. So
I rolled my eyes and set my head in my hands, as if it was too much for me, and it almost was.
I rent a small brick bungalow within a loop of other small brick bungalows, all of which squat on a massive bluff overlooking the former stockyards of Kansas City. Kansas City, Missouri, not Kansas Ci...
I really wanted the book to make money, in an obsessive childish way—that feeling that if I wanted it enough, it should happen. It should happen.
I really believe Nick will come after me. I turn toward the house and see only a closed door.
I opened the door. Nonononono.
I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity.
I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving si...
I know the wisdom, that no parents should see their child die, that such an event is like nature spun backward. But it’s the only way to truly keep your child. Kids grow up, they forge more potent all...
I heard you could do that—buy books by the yard, turn them into furniture. People are dumb. I’ll never get over how dumb people are.
I don’t mean this to sound cruel, Tish began, but it seems like part of your heart can never work if you don’t have kids. Like it will always be shut off.
I don’t feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.
I could see the cat was definitely on the steps. Still on the steps, 20 minutes after Carl's call. This was strange; Amy loved the cat. The cat was declawed, the cat was never let outside, , because t...
I can’t recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn’t immediately reference to a movie or TV show.
I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there—hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen
How do they do their ham up there? She tucked her feet under her legs and leaned in. It reminded me of high school, that serious stare, as if she were trying to memorize the combination to a safe.
His name is Nick. I love it. It makes him seem nice, and regular, which he is. When he tells me his name, I say, Now, that’s a real name. He brightens and reels off some line: Nick’s the kind of guy y...
He was not my actual father-who would have loved me and spent time with me-but a benevolent and vaguely important figure named Mr. Brown