I love that I am a woman with booby traps
I liked the Old Testament spitefulness of the phrase 'got what she deserved.' Sometimes women do.
I like rules that make sense, not rules without logic.
I like other people’s things better. They come with other people’s history.
I like checking days off a calendar—151 days crossed and nothing truly horrible has happened. 152 and the world isn’t ruined. 153 and I haven’t destroyed anyone. 154 and no one really hates me. Someti...
I just want you to be happy, Amy. How many times did he say that and I took it to mean: I just want you to be happy, Amy, because that’s less work for me.
I just want to live until I can’t anymore.
I have learned about bulk shopping in my four weeks as a Mississippi River resident. Republicans go to Sam’s Club, Democrats go to Costco. But everyone buys bulk because—unlike Manhattanites—they all...
I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it. It’s the Day blood. Something’s wrong with it.
I got it, Go said. Go home, fuck her brains out, then smack her with your penis and scream, There's some wood for you bitch!
I go on dates with men who are nice and good-looking and smart – perfect-on-paper men who make me feel like I’m in a foreign land, trying to explain myself, trying to make myself known. Because isn’t...
I don’t want to panic them,’ I said. ‘If we don’t
I don't have anything else to add. I just wanted to make sure I had the last word. I think I've earned that.
I couldn't decide if I'd been mistreated. By Richard, by those boys who took my virginity, by anyone. I was never really on my side in any argument.
I could feel the night hanging on me like a soft, damp bedgown
I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don’t reach my lips. She looks nice today, I’d think, but somehow it wouldn’t occur to me to say it out loud.
I blame my mother. A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.
I appreciate a straightforward apology the way a tone-deaf person enjoys a fine piece of music. I can’t do it, but I can applaud it in others.
His eyes are mischievous, his lashes are long. I can see what he looked like as a boy.
He’s calling you a Cool Girl to fool you! That’s what men do: They try to make it sound like you are the Cool Girl so you will bow to their wishes.