Because for Amy, love was like drugs or booze or porn: There was no plateau. Each exposure needed to be more intense than the last to achieve the same result.
Can say that? I do want to start over with the right man, the New Nick. Things are looking bad for him, dire. Only I can save Nick from me. But I am trapped. If you ever left here and I didn’t
Four kids clambering up her, the smile was bigger, but hassled, and she was always leaning away from one of us. I picture her as constantly under siege by her children.
He's always been moody. Even when he was a baby he was like a cat. All snuggly one second and then the next, he'd be looking at you like he had no idea who you were.
Her bona fide name is Jennifer, but people don’t believe Jennifers can tell the future; Jennifers can tell you which cute shoes to buy or what farmer’s market to visit, but they should keep their hand...
Isn’t that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood? He gets me. She gets me. Isn’t that the simple magic phrase? So
Like rules that make sense, not rules without logic),
Noblesse oblige
Now her stomach knotted as she remembered the Free-Lunch kids and her patronizing smiles toward them as they presented their dog-eared cards, and the steamy cafeteria ladies would call it out: Free Lu...
She day-dreamed about dying.
She smoked so much she smelled like tobacco even after a shower, like if she slit her skin, menthol vapor would ooze out. He’d come to like it, it smelled like comfort and home to him, the way warm br...
Showtime! 6-0-0 the clock said—in my face, first thing
Slowly, slowly pulling up. Or grabbing hold of Debby’s arm, vise-like, for an Indian rub and what starts as a joke gets more and more frantic, him rubbing until he draws speckles of blood, his teeth g...
So I turned on the radio and of course it was a Tom Petty song—is there ever a time you turn on the radio and don’t hear a Tom Petty song?—so
Stomach didn’t hurt the way it did with my wife—the constant dread of returning to my own home, where I wasn’t welcome.
Streaking out
The worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manip...
Tomboy. I’m actually
Too much, because it feels so good
Twice-removed somethings and whom I only mildly terrorized.
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