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(the New Boyfriend) Knows I Write Every Day For Hours But Has No Idea That All I’m Writing About Is Me. It Seems Wiser To Let Him Think I’m An Aspiring Novelist Instead Of Just An Alcoholic With A Year Of Sobriety Who Spends Eight Hours A Day Writing About The Other 16.

-Augusten Burroughs

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(the New Boyfriend) Knows

Augusten Burroughs

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(the New Boyfriend) Knows I Write Every Day For Hours But Has No Idea That All I’m Writing About Is Me. It Seems Wiser To Let Him Think I’m An Aspiring Novelist Instead Of Just An Alcoholic With A Year Of Sobriety Who Spends Eight Hours A Day Writing About The Other 16.

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I Never Listen To Music When I Write.

Listening To Music

What Police Officer Would Dare Ticket Death's Minivan?

Love Is A Helium-based Emotion; Love Always Takes The High Road.

Taking The High Road

But Then, Look At Me. My Brain Is Incorrectly Formed, And I'm Shaped Like A Tube. Plus, I'm An Alcoholic, A "survivor" Of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Was Raised In A Cult And Have No Education. So, Really, If You Think About It, The Only Thing That Separates Me From The Guy With The Stinky Foot And No Teeth Is A Book Deal And Some Cologne.

New York City Is A Place Where You Can Lock Yourself Up In Your Little Studio Apartment, And Not Go Outside At All, And Not Feel In The Slightest Guilty About It.

Most Everybody Had Made At Least One Bad, Drunken Decision In Their Lives. Called An Ex At Two In The Morning. Or Perhaps Has A Little Too Much To Drink On A Second Date And Wept Inconsolably While Revealing How Simply Damaged One Was, While Nonetheless Retaining An Uncommonly Large Capacity For Love. That Kind Of Thing Was, While Regrettable, At Least Comprehensible. But Waking Up With Someone Generationally Inappropriate, Like Your Grandfather's Best Buddy?

And I Hope She Does Not Live In A Dark World. Because Even The Most Terrible Loss Doesn't Have To Make You Darker; It Can Make You Deeper.

He's A Really Nice Guy, If Only I Weren't Me.

The Dark Side Of Blogging Is, Of Course, People Can Be (and Are) Just Savage And Uncivilized, Deeply Cruel And Fully Unaccountable.

There Is No Such Thing As Too Ordinary To Write About, Whether That's Life Or A Scene In A Novel. What's Interesting To People, Whether It's Memoir Or Fiction, Is The Truth.

Miracles Do Happen. You Must Believe This. No Matter What Else You Believe About Life, You Must Believe In Miracles.

Sometimes When You Work In Advertising You'll Get A Product That's Really Garbage And You Have To Make It Seem Fantastic, Something That Is Essential To The Continued Quality Of Life.

Are You One Of Those People Who Says On A First Date, 'i'm Really Not In A Hurry To Meet Somebody, I Figure If It Happens, It Happens'? Because Those Are The Most Desperate People Of All. I'm Just Saying This So That If You Are This Person, You Aren't Hiding It From Anybody. There Is No Shame In Being Hungry For Another Person. There Is No Shame In Wanting Very Much To Share Your Life With Somebody.

I'm Grateful For A Lot Of Things. One Is Not Being A Drunk Wreck. Or Losing All Four Limbs In Some Ridiculous East Village Bus Accident That I Was So Destined For.

All Children Should Be Loved, Protected, Nurtured --emotionally And Intellectually-- Respected, And Never, Under Any Circumstances, Underestimated.

The Most Mortifying Fact Of My Life Is Something That Happened When I Was Fourteen And I Have Never Admitted To Anyone: Not To Friends Nor Therapists; Not Even In Rehab When We Were Detailing Our Own Personal Spirals Of Shame Did I Confess. It Is This: I Am A Graduate Of The Barbizon School Of Modeling.

As I Sat In The Hot, Salty Water, I Thought, 'no Wonder Mr. Bubble Always Gives Me A Urinary Tract Infection And Hives.' Mr. Bubble Was For Common People. Mr. Bubble Was For My So-called Brother, Their True Child. I Was A Vanderbilt. I Should Bathe In Condiments And Seasonings.

I Once Read About A Guy Who Lost His Arms In A Fire. The Nurse Took Pity On Him And Gave Him A Hand Job. I Don't Even Get That.

I Thought, I Can't Do Advertising Any More, So I Was Downloading All These Pdf Applications From Community Colleges. And I Thought, I'll Become A Paramedic. I'll Get A Two-year Associate Degree, If I Can Get In.

The Most Important Thing For A Writer To Do Is To Write. It Really Doesn't Matter What You Write As Long As You Are Able To Write Fluidly, Very Quickly, Very Effortlessly. It Needs To Become Not Second Nature But Really First Nature To You. And Read; You Need To Read And You Need To Read Excellent Books And Then Some Bad Books. Not As Many Bad Books, But Some Bad Books, So That You Can See What Both Look Like And Why Both Are What They Are.

We Were Young. We Were Bored. And The Old Electroshock Therapy Machine Was Just Under The Stairs In A Box Next To The Hoover.

The Thing For Someone Just Starting Off [in Writing] Is To Write. You Need To Have Limber Fingers, Whether You Write With Your Fingers Or You Type On Your Laptop, But You Need To Have A Limber Mind And You Need To Be Able To Write Without Judging What You've Written, At Least Right Away, And Without Editing Right Away.

I'm Not Going To Waste My Energy Looking Into The Eyes Of Someone Like The Guy Who Blew My Legs Off Trying To Find A Way To Forgive Him For Doing Something That Horrible When There Are Way More Productive Ways I Could Be Spending My Life. You've Got To Focus On Moving On.

It Turned Out I Had Always Been A Smoker. I Just Hadn't Had Any Cigarettes.

While I Liked Hamsters, Too, The Habitrail Cage Was Expensive. Even I Could See That The Interconnecting Boxes, Tubes, And Spheres Could Easily Bankrupt A Family And Lead To Addiction Later In Life. Because, How Would You Know When To Stop? How Could You Stop? An Entire City Could Be Built With A Habitrail.

When I Ate Vanilla Frosting Straight From The Can, I Could Feel God Standing Right Nest To Me Like A Real Best Friend, Watching, And Smiling, And Wishing He Had A Mouth.

Most Of Us Have Love In Our Lives. Most Of Us Love Other People Are Are Ourselves Loved By Others. But Make No Mistake: You Are Alone In The World. You Were Born Alone, Even If You Were Born Conjoined. And You Die Alone, Unable To Bring A Single Person With You.

Saying Just The Right Thing After A Considerable, Awkward Pause Is Far Less Effective Than Saying The Wrong Thing With Perfect Timing. I'm Telling You.

Before I'm A Writer, I'm Definitely A Reader And When I Read Memoir, I Really Want It To Be True.

There Is No Shame In Being Hungry For Another Person. There Is No Shame In Wanting Very Much To Share Your Life With Somebody.

Maybe It Was A Patty Hearst Thing. Stockholm Syndrome Or Whatever It's Called When You're Being Held Against Your Will But Then You Become Sucked In And Fall In Love. Or If Not Exactly Love, You Fall Into Something You Can't See Out Of. 'i Can't Shoot A Machine Gun' Becomes 'hey, This Hardly Has Any Kick-back!

Falling In Love

If You Hate Your Life, You Haven't' Seen Enough Of It. If You Hate Your Life, It's Because Your Life Is Too Small And Doesn't' Fit You.

You Are Allowed To Be Alive. You Are Allowed To Be Somebody Different. You Are Allowed To Not Say Goodbye To Anybody Or Explain A Single Thing To Anyone, Ever.

I'm Like The Guy Who Prepares Your Taxes Or A Dentist. I'm Very Conservative And Boring In A Lot Of Ways.

It Terrified Me To Consider: What If, As A Grown-up, I Craved Another Body Beside Me As Still As This One? What Then?

Do Not Wait For The Healing To Arrive. It Will Never Come. The Holes Will Never Leave Or Be Filled With Anything At All. But Holes Are Interesting Things.

I Understood At Once, I Am Not Living, But Actively Dying. I Am Smoking, Living Unhealthily. I’m Shutting Down. I Need To Go The Other Way, Inside. And It Was So Clear To Me What I Was Doing. It Was Suddenly Perfectly Clear. I Understood, I Need To Write. Live Here, In My Words, And My Head. I Need To Go Inside, That’s All. No Big, Complicated, Difficult Thing. I Just Need To Go In Reverse. And Not Worry About What To Write About, But Just Write. Or, If I’m Going To Worry About What To Write, Then Do This Worrying On Paper, So At Least I’m Writing And Will Have A Record Of The Anxiety.

Confidence Is A Reduction Of Your Own Interest In Whether Others Are Thinking About You And If So, What They're Thinking.

Thinking About You

Nobody's Trying To Kill You, Deirdre. You're Killing Yourself.

Killing Yourself

Decisions Are Beautiful. They Are The Evidence Of Thought And Care. Decisions Are The Polishing Cloths Of Life.

I've Just Finished My Next Collection, Possible Side Effects, And I'm Now Working On A Collection Of Holiday Stories As Well As A Memoir About My Relationship With My Father.

God, I Felt Certain, Did Not Mind That I Didn’t Press My Hands Together To Pray. I Was Casual, But I Was Sincere. I Knew That God Existed As The Correct Answer Inside My Chest.

Red Hair Is Great. It's Rare, And Therefore Superior.

As A Young Child I Had Santa And Jesus All Mixed Up. I Could Identify Coke Or Pepsi With Just One Sip, But I Could Not Tell You For Sure Why They Strapped Santa To A Cross. Had He Missed A House? Had A Good Little Girl Somewhere In The World Not Received The Doll He'd Promised Her, Making The Father Angry?

I Tend To Really Enjoy Being Swept Up In Fiction. I Love A Good Story And I Admire Fiction Authors.

The Reason I Know What We Are To Each Other Is Because We Fight Freely And Almost Constantly, About Even The Smallest Thing. In Fact, Once We Didn't Speak For An Entire Week Because He Didn't Like The Way I Loaded His Dishwasher...i Can't Decide If We're Exact Opposites, Or Somehow Exactly The Same Except For Minor Cosmetic Differences. I Do Know That All Of His Friends Hate Me And All Of My Friends Hate Him. We Drive Each Other Crazy In Ways That Nobody Else Can Even Touch. We Never Bore Each Other. And We Both Realize What A Rare Thing This Is.

My Mother Is From Cairo, Georgia. This Makes Everything She Says Sound Like It Went Through A Curling Iron.

Throwing Things Horrified Me. I Suffered Extreme, Paralyzing Anxiety When It Came To Anything Remotely Athletic. I Wouldn't Even Run To Catch The School Bus Because I Knew I'd Trip And Then Get Teased For A Year.

It Was Unnerving, The Way She Could Go From Cool Efficiency To Sarcastic To Sweet Within The Space Of Thirty Seconds. I Found It Very Manipulative And Controlling. It Put The Other Person Constantly On-guard. And It Was Extremely Intimidating Because You Never Knew When She Was Going To Snap. I Made A Mental Note To Refine These Skills Within Myself.

My Window Fogs And This Makes Me Feel Like There Is No World Outside Of The Car.

Smoking Had Become My Favorite Thing In The World To Do. It Was Like Having Instant Comfort, No Matter Where Or When.

In The Same Way That A Tornado Rips The Roof Off A Double-wide Trailer, Leaving The Occupants Dazed And Staring At The Clouds From The Splinters Of What Used To Be Their Living Room, It Was Over.

And I Began To Let Him Go. Hour By Hour. Days Into Months. It Was A Physical Sensation, Like Letting Out The String Of A Kite. Except That The String Was Coming From My Center.

Never Work With Children, Puppies Or Bulimics.

Marriage Is Overdone. As Long As There Are People, People Are Going To Find It Interesting.

But Even With My Minimal Amount Of Fame, There Are Certain Perks. Recently, I Was At A Movie Premier, And At The Party After The Movie, Meryl Streep Was Loose, Walking Around The Room Like A Normal Person. Absolutely Nothing Was Preventing Me From Lunging Toward Her And Shrieking "dingoes Ate My Baby! Dingoes Ate My Baby!

I Missed Him So Much That I Had Physical Sensations Of Loss, All Over My Body. Like One Minute I Was Missing An Arm, The Next My Spleen. It Was Making Me Feel Sick, Like Throwing Up.

So That's What I'm Here To Become. And Suddenly, This Word Fills Me With A Brand Of Sadness I Haven't Felt Since Childhood. The Kind Of Sadness You Feel At The End Of Summer. When The Fireflies Are Gone, The Ponds Have Dried Up And The Plants Are Wilted, Weary From Being So Green.

But I Am Not Here Ironically; I Am Here Sincerely.

Time Moves Only Forward, Never Back. We Look Forward To A Moment And Then It Arrives And An Instant Later It Is Gone. Like Something On The Surface Of A River That We Reached For But Did Not Touch In Time And It Carried On, Away. You Cannot Be A Prisoner Of Your Past Against Your Will. Because You Can Only Live In The Past Inside Your Mind.

I Can't Tell You How Much I Love Target And Costco, That Kind Of Culture, Because It's Something I Never Felt A Part Of. I've Always Felt Like A Tourist Because I Have Never Fit In Anywhere.

You Would Be Amazed By What You Can Give Up, Lose, Or Break, And Yet Still Be A Person Who Gets Happy Over Brownies.

It’s A Wonder I’m Even Alive. Sometimes I Think That. I Think That I Can’t Believe I Haven’t Killed Myself. But There’s Something In Me That Just Keeps Going On. I Think It Has Something To Do With Tomorrow, That There Is Always One, And That Everything Can Change When It Comes.

I Feel Like They Are Two Different Things, And When I Write Books, They're Just Books. If They Can Be Movies That's Okay. But I Would Write A Novel That Couldn't Be A Film.

I Was In Advertising For Years. That Was Cushy, You Know? It's Pretty Cushy In A Lot Of Ways, But I Hated It.

I Knew That He Was As Reliable As A Mathematical Formula.

I Read A Lot Of Science Books - I Love Cosmology, Quantum Theory, Particle Physics. So My Idea Of A Great Read Would Probably Put You Directly Into A Coma.

What I Think Of Blogs Is Just This: Some Are Beautifully Written And Many Are Not. But Even Blogs That Aren't Necessarily "well" Written Are Great For The Person Writing Them.

I Love You," She Said, And I Knew She Meant It Because She Spoke The Words From The Heart At The Center Of Her Chest. This, At Least, Had Not Been Left Behind At The Hospital.

This Is How You Survive The Unsurvivable, This Is How You Lose That Which You Cannot Bear To Lose, This Is How You Reinvent Yourself, Overcome Your Abusers, Fulfill Your Ambitions And Meet The Love Of Your Life: By Following What Is True, No Matter Where It Leads You.

This Is What You Should Know About Losing Someone You Love. They Do Not Travel Alone. You Go With Them.

Someone You Love

With My Own Memoirs, They Are Truthful, And I Write Everything Fully Expecting To Some Day End Up Televised On Court Tv, And I'm Fully Prepared To Be Challenged Legally On It. Everything I Write Is The Truth And I Know That I Would Win.

My Mother Began To Go Crazy. Not In A 'let's Paint The Kitchen Red!' Sort Of Way. But Crazy In A 'gas Oven, Toothpaste Sandwhich, I Am God' Sort Of Way.

It's Weird - Sort Of Not Terribly Wise - To Take A Book That Was Successful And Then Change Its Cover.

I Know Exactly How That Is. To Love Somebody Who Doesn't Deserve It.

Self-pity Is The Bestiality Of Emotions: It Absolutely Disgusts People. When You're Feeling Pity For Yourself, And Somebody Says To You 'you Think Maybe It's Time For The Pity Party To Be Over? You Should Stop Feeling Sorry For Yourself And Try To Think Positive,' It Makes You Wish You Could Saw Their Head Off.

I Never Could Have Written The Screenplay Because I Would Have Been Forced To Learn New Software And I Can't Learn One More Thing.

My Instinct Was Always Have Your Gun In Your Hand. Especially When You Are Telling Somebody To Do Something. But, In Fact, The Police Academy Discourages This. They Feel Your Gun Should Rarely, If Ever, Be Brought Out Of Its Holster. Most Certainly Not When Children Are Involved, Which Is Exactly When I Saw Myself Using My Gun Most Often. A Truant Teenager Loitering Outside A Movie Theater Is Going To Be Far More Motivated To Return To School When He Has The Barrel Of A .45 Pressed Against His Cheek.

I Realized I Could Really Become Hooked On These Happy Pills. They Gave Me A Glorious Feeling Of General Well-being And Didn't Make Me Fat, Like Alcohol. I Wondered If There Was Any Harm In Being Addicted To Only These.

I Felt A Bottomless Sadness. So Completely Alone. Like One Of My Stuffed Animals At Home That I Was Too Old For Now, That Sat On The Shelf In My Closet, Mashed Against The Back Wall.

I Loved Most When His Eyelashes Twitched And He Blinked, And Suddenly Happiness Was There Inside His Eyes. Unmistakable. Like A Single Word Printed On A Clean White Page.

A Lot Of People Can Be Afraid Of The Masking Because People Can Misrepresent Themselves [in The Internet] And They Can Pose As People They're Not. Well, Yeah; That's True. That's One Side Of It. But The Other Side Of It Is That It Equalizes You And If You Happen To Be A Person Who Is Not Equal In The Eyes Of The Greater Society That's A Damn Good Thing.

Think Of The Actual Physical Elements That Compose Our Bodies: We Are 98 Percent Hydrogen And Oxygen And Carbon. That's Table Sugar. You Are Made Of The Same Stuff As Table Sugar. Just A Couple Of Tiny Differences Here And There And Look What Happened To The Sugar: It Can Stand Upright And Send Tweets.

As A Child, I Was Never Drawn Toward Depraved Or Extreme Situations; I Really Wanted A Normal Little Childhood. Unfortunately, That's Just Not What Happened.

For Exactly The Same Reason, It Is Sometimes Satisfying To Cut Yourself And Bleed. On Those Gray [sic] Days Where Eight In The Morning Looks No Different From Noon And Nothing Has Happened And Nothing Is Going To Happen And You Are Washing A Glass In The Sink And It Breaks - Accidentally - And Punctures Your Skin. And Then There Is This Shocking Red, The Brightest Thing In The Day, So Vibrant It Buzzes, This Blood Of Yours. That Is Okay Sometimes Because At Least You Know You're Alive.

But Feelings, No Matter How Strong Or “ugly,” Are Not A Part Of Who You Are. They Are The Radio Stations Your Mind Listens To If You Don’t Give It Something Better To Do. Feelings Are Fluid And Dynamic; They Change Frequently. Feelings Are Something You Have, Not Something You Are. Like Physical Beauty, A Cold Sore, Or An Opinion. Admitting You Feel Rage Or Terrible Pain Or Regret Or Some Old, Rotten Blame Does Not Mean These Feelings Are Part Of Who You Are As A Person. What These Feelings Mean Is, You Have To Change Your Thinking To Be Free Of Them.

My Only Ritual Is To Just Sit Down And Write, Write Every Day.

If You Believe Suicide Will Bring You Peace, Or At The Very Least Just An End To Everything You Hate- You Are Displaying Self-caring Behavior. You Are Still Able To Actively Seek Solutions To Your Problems. You Are Willing To Go To Great Lengths To Provide What You Believe Will Be Soothing To Yourself. This Strikes Me As Optimistic.

But My Favorite Band Is Curbside Life, Out Of Chicago.

Stars Should Not Be Seen Alone. That's Why There Are So Many. Two People Should Stand Together And Look At Them. One Person Alone Will Surely Miss The Good Ones.

No Matter What I've Written, Someone Somewhere Has Come Up To Me And Said, "me Too." The Truth Can Be Offensive, But It's Always Nourishing, In A Way. You Recognize It. You Can Feel It. And Even If [readers] Think, "my God, I Would Never Get In Those Situations," Within Those Ridiculous Circumstances That I Have Created For Myself, They Know The Way I Respond Is Probably What They Would Do Too.

Bad News Should Be Followed With Soup. Then A Nap.

And In My Mind, This Settles The Issue. I Would Never Drink Cologne, And Am Therefore Not An Alcoholic.

[christmas] Holidays Are A Heavy, Heavy Time. We Make Light Of Them With Our Red And Green And Our Stockings And Candy Canes, But People Think Heavy Thoughts Over The Holidays Because That's When You're Thinking About Family. Are We Close? Or Are We Not As Close As Other People?

Life Would Be Fabric-softener, Tuna-salad-on-white, Pta-meeting Normal.

Any Damage That's Been Done, You Have To Fix Yourself Because It Needs Fixing And There Is Nobody Else To Do The Work. Blame May Well Be Justified, But It's Not Going To Move You Forward In Your Life.

Maybe You Feel Pressure To Be Positive Because So Many People Rely On Your Good, Fake-positive Energy? If That's The Case, Screw Everybody Else. You're Not A Bottle Of Valium.

Positive Energy

I Never Get Sick Of Writing My Own Stories Because There's A Certain Comfort In Knowing You Will Never Run Out Of Material. It's Relaxing, Actually, To Write.

In General, Advertising Isn't A "creative" Atmosphere. It's A Business Atmosphere And Your Job Is Puzzle Solving. My Favorite Aspect Of The Business, I Guess, Was Presenting To Clients. What I Enjoyed Least Were The Clients. Worried Corporate Brand Managers, Trying To Dumb-down Their Ads For The Stupid American Population. I Hated The Disrespect That These People Had For "consumers."

A Lot Of Being A Writer Doesn't Have Anything To Do With Writing. It's Ironic - I Have To Squeeze The Books In, Even Though That's What It's All About.

There's Not Enough Of Me Left Over.

I'll Always Write About What's Going On In My Life And The Reason For That Is It's Not Actually Because I'm So Fascinated With Myself, It's Because I Can't Think. I Can't Think Like Have Thoughts In My Head And Think Them Through And Come To A Conclusion. It's Like Math For Me.

You Manufacture Beauty With Your Mind

All Of Us Are Richer And More Fascinating And More Complex Than We Can Ever Know.

You Have An Incredible Body." He Reaches Out To Touch My Stomach. I Feel No Pleasure In His Compliment Or His Touch, Only Impatience. This Is The Only Feeling. I Feel Like The Paper On Which My Mood Chart Is Printed.

Although I Was Able To Maintain A Pleasant Expression, I Was Mentally Throwing Up In Her Face.

I Wouldn't Want To Waste Any Of My Brain Cells On Forgiving If It's Holding Me Back.

I Sit There And Think How It Isn't Fair That I Can't Drink At All, Even A Little. I Realize I Have Crammed An Entire Lifetime Of Moderate Drinking Into A Decade Of Hard-core Drinking And That Is Why. I Blew My Wad.

I Was Learning That If I Lived Slightly In The Future-what Will Happen Next-i Didn't Have To Feel So Much About What Was Going On In The Present.

So We Can Be Filled With Holes And Loss And Wide Expanses Of Unhealed Geography - And We Can Also Be Excited By Life And In Love And Content At The Exact Same Moment.

The Only Other People Who Have Had Experiences Similar To Those Of This Man Were Locked Up Inside Institutions For The Criminally Insane. The Difference Is, This Guy Gets Business Cards.

I Was On The Cover Of A Lot Of Newspapers. I Was On The Cover Of Usa Today For Every Single Day For A Month. I Was On The Masthead, So I Tend To Get Recognized A Lot, And In Weird Places. It's Always Flattering, And It's Always Odd. It's Always At The Worst Possible Time.

Should I Just Sit Down, Right Here At Carousel Seven, And Shake Until Somebody's Arms Are Around Me And They're Saying, 'it's Okay, I'm Here, I'm Here, Come With Me To The Institute.

And Human Instinct Is Ancient And Reliable, Utterly Mysterious And Possibly Capable Of Great Genius. I Believe That Refined, Fluent Instincts Are A Person's Most Valuable Asset. My Own Instincts Have Repeatedly Guided Me Against The Grain Of Logic And Probability. When I Have Trusted And Followed Their Direction, They Have Never Been Wrong. I Don't Know How Or Why. But I Know That Every Significant Experience-positive Or Negative-sharpens Them And Makes Them More Accurate.

Like Every Child, I Adored Her. Until I Formed A Brain And Got To Know Her.

You Must Never Allow Something That Happened To You To Become A Morbidly Treasured Heirloom That You Carry, Show People, Put Back In Its Black Velvet Pouch And Then Tuck Back Into Your Jacket Where You Can Keep It Close To Your Heart.

My Thoughts Seem Thick, Ketchup Stuck In A Bottle. Like Trying To Feel Someone's Face While Wearing Goosedown Mittens.

I Don't Really Think Of My Blog As A Real Blog. It's A Lame Blog. It's More Like My When-the-mood-strikes Update, Or Smoke Signal.

My Attraction Had Been Immediate And Profound. And It Had Nothing To Do With The Way He Looked. My Attraction Was To What Resided Between His Lines.

Tracy, The Leader Of The Cdh Group, Looks At Me With Eyes That Seem To Belong To Someone Three Times Her Age. It's Something Beyond Wisdom, All The Way To Insanity And Back. It's Like Her Eyes Are Scarred From All The Things She's Seen.

What Nobody Understood Then Is This: The Only Way That You Achieve What You Want And Fulfill Your Dreams And Become Great Is By Demanding That Sort Of Attention. You Have To Make It Happen.

There Is Nothing About Myself That I Wouldn't Reveal Or Write About. I Don't Care How Horrendous Or Ridiculous I May Appear In Person Or In Print. There Is Great Freedom In Not Caring What Other People Think.

My Brother Was Born Without Taste Or The Desire To Be Professionally Lit.

And She's A Nurse. Do You Know How Hard Nursing School Is? It's Like Medical School. So She's Obviously Smart.

I Hate News And Information And Anything That Threatens To Puncture The Bubble Of Oblivion In Which I Live.

I Suppose Home Is, For Me, More Of A State Of Mind. It's Really More Of About Being Where I Want To Be With People I Care About.

I've Learned How To Turn The Adversities In My Life Into Enriching Experiences. You Can Actually Gain A Lot From Adversities And They Make You The Person You Are Today.

His Laugh Is Made If Porch Swings And Lemonade

After Was Better. Before Was Only There So After Could Happen.

As A Writer, You Can't Allow Yourself The Luxury Of Being Discouraged And Giving Up When You Are Rejected, Either By Agents Or Publishers. You Absolutely Must Plow Forward.

I Don't Have A Fixed Routine. I Write Every Day But I Don't "write" Every Day, If That Makes Any Sense. In Other Words, I Email With My Friends Constantly And Sometimes I'll Pull Out Something I've Written And Save It.

Women Smirk At Baldness. How Adorable Would They Find It If They Began To Lose Their Breasts In Their Late Twenties? If Both Tits Just Shrunk Up - Unevenly I Might Add - And Eventually Turned Into Wine-cork Nubs. Then It Would Be A Different Story. Then Men Would Get The Pity That They Deserve. As Far As I'm Concerned, Baldness Is The Male Breast Cancer Only Worse, Because Almost Everyone Gets It. True, It's Not Life Threatening. Just Social-life Threatening. But In New York City, There Is No Difference.

I Was Struck With A Bolt Of Distilled Horror Like I Have Never Known Before. Far Worse Than Suddenly Finding Yourself Walking Through A Prison Cafeteria Wearing Daisy Duke Shorts And A Jane Fonda Headband.

Finding Yourself

There's Never A False Note In A Berg Novel.

I Did Not Consider Him To Be Any Kind Of A Genius. I Considered Him Deeply Lacking In The Area That Mattered Most In Life. Star Quality.

I Think Part Of The Reason I'm Attracted To Foster Is Because He's Such A Mess. I Mean, The People I Have Loved In My Life Have Never Been Easy To Love. I'm Not Used To Normal. I'm Used To Disaster. I Don't Know, As Messed Up As He Is, He's Also Sort Of Exciting, Sort Of A Challenge. I'm Accustomed To Working For Love.

I Don't Read Memoirs. But If You Write A Memoir, I Would Think You'd Want People To Know, "o.k., Look, I've Taken Some Liberties Here." It's Just A Matter Of Being Open With Your Readers.

I Think Writers Tend To Be Experience Junkies, And I Think They Also Tend To Want To Be On The Outside Looking In.

Everybody In Recovery Smokes. If You Don't Like Smoking, Don't Even Bother Trying To Get Sober. Just Stay Drunk.

Some Damage Is Too Severe, Some Harm Endures. And What You Have To Do Is Accept It. And By Accept It I Mean, Don’t Be The Paralyzed Person In The Bed Who Is Waiting To Walk Again. Realize, It’s Never Gonna Happen. And Find Some Other Way To Get Around –swing From A Vine, Get A Mad Max Wheelchair. Anything But…wait.

My Parents Had This Relationship That Was Really Terrifying. I Mean, The Level Of Hatred That They Had, And The Level Of Physical Abuse - My Mother Would Beat Up My Father, Basically - And I Think I Was Drawn To Images On Television That Were Bright And Reflective.

I Don't Think Writers - In General - Ever Achieve The Fame Of Movie Stars. For The Simple Reason That Only A Fraction Of The Population Reads. But I Guess There Are Exceptions.

The Schnauzer Listens To Jazz. I Listen To Jazz Because He Likes It, And I Have Even Gone To Jazz Concerts With Him, But Truthfully I Would Rather Listen To Retarded Children Pounding On Pan Lids With Wooden Spoons.

Not Crazy In A 'let's Paint The Kitchen Bright Red!' Sort Of Way. But Crazy In A 'gas Oven, Toothpaste Sandwich, I Am God' Sort Of Way. Gone Were The Days When She Would Stand On The Deck Lighting Lemon-scented Candles Without Then Having To Eat The Wax.p28

If You Find You Require Willpower, You Aren't Ready To Lose Weight.

The Past Does Not Haunt Us. We Haunt The Past. We Allow Our Minds To Focus In That Direction. We Open Memories And Examine Them. We Reexperience Emotions We Felt During The Painful Events We Experienced Because We Are Recalling Them In As Much Detail As We Can.

I Gazed Around The Room And My Eyes Stopped Dead On A Little Boy Standing In The Corner. This Was A Particularly Eerie Doll. Life-sized And Blond-haired And Blue-eyed. I Saw A Little Nazi Boy, Pockets Probably Stuffed With Scissors And Retractable Blades. My Grandfather On My Mother's Side Was Rumored To Be Half Jewish, Which Practically Makes Me Jerry Seinfeld's Brother, And Thus Wary Of Blond German Boys With Their Hands Out Of Sight.

The More Obsessed One Is With Getting Thin, The More Certain It Becomes That One Will Never Get There.

Reading Takes Solitude And It Takes Focus.

My Subconscious Does The Writing; I Don't Have Control Over That.

In Some Ways, Blogging Is Like Drinking - It Gives A Person Permission To Be A Total Asshole.

I Think That The Internet Is Our Most Profound And Beautiful Achievement. It Is Magnificent. We Have The Internet As A Layer Of Our Thinking That Doesn't Control Us, We Control It, Yet We Don't Have To Be Aware Of It. It Will Be Like A Suit That Really Fits Well.

We Haven't Slept Together. But We've Napped

Nothing Made Sense To Me Anymore. I Knew I Was Young, I Knew I Was Small. But I Was Worried That I Might Already Be Ruined.

No Matter Your Spiritual Beliefs, If You Hold Any, The Answer Is The Same: Sometimes, Why Is Not Knowable. If You Open The Refrigerator Door And A Tub Of Kozy Shack Tapioca Pudding Tumbles Out And Splats Open Onto The Floor, You Clean It. You Don’t Stand There And Question Why It Happened, How It Was Possible. Why Doesn’t Matter Now.

You Deserve To Need Me, Not To Have Me.

In The Opening To The Mary Tyler Moore Show Mary's In The Supermarket, Hurrying Through The Aisles. She Pauses At The Meat Case, Picks Up A Steak And Checks The Price. Then Rolls Her Eyes, Shrugs And Tosses It In The Cart. That's Kind Of How I Feel. Sure I Would Have Liked Things To Be Different. But, 'roll Of Eyes' What Can You Do? 'shrug' I Threw The Meat In My Cart And Moved On.

But I Can Also Write In Crappy Motel Rooms, While Standing In Line, Or Sitting In The Dentist's Chair.

I Don't Worry About Anything In The Internet Age. I Have Been Online Since I Was Aware Of It: 1985 In San Francisco. It Has Changed Everything In My Life. I Would Not Want To Even Be Alive In An Era That Did Not Have It Because It Is Essential To Our Evolution As A Species.

If I Were Blind I'd Rather Have Another Blind Person Leading Me Around Because They Know What I'm Dealing With And They're Experiencing The Same Things.

Once I Decided To Write, To Be Published, I Knew It Would Happen.

Even When We Lose An Arm Or A Leg, There's Not Less Of Us But More. Human Experience Weighs More Than Human Tissue.

It Was A Salad Bar Of Phobias

Each Time My Mother Went Psychotic, I Hoped It Would Be The Last Time. Afterward She Would Tell Me, 'i Think That Was The Final Episode. I Think I Had A Breakthrough.' And I Would Believe-for A Few Months-that It Was True. That She Was Back To Stay. Maybe It Was Like Having A Rock Star Mother Who Was Always On The Road. Were There Benatar Children? Did They Sit Around And Wonder If Their Mom's Hell Is For Children Tour Was Going To Be Her Last Tour?

He Continues To Smile Expectantly. I Take A Step Back. I Don't Want To Catch Whatever He Has. He Is A Disturbing Out-of-uniform Santa.

Applause Is A Constant Thing In Aa. It's How We Buy Drinks For Each Other.

Glen Had A Disability More Disfiguring Than A Burn And More Terrifying Than Cancer. Glen Had Been Born On The Day After Christmas. "my Parents Just Combine My Birthday With Christmas, That's All," He Explained. But We Knew This Was A Lie. Glen's Parents Just Wrapped A Couple Of His Christmas Presents In Birthday-themed Wrapping Paper, Stuck Some Candles In A Supermarket Cake, And Had A Dinner Of Christmas Leftovers.

My Mistake Was In Underestimating The Emotional Force Of A Song You Have Already Hear A Thousand Times.

Other People Sound Flat To My Ear; Their Words Just Hang In The Air. But When My Mother Says Something, The Ends Curl.

I Knew That If I Wrote A New Book Every Six Months Or Every Year, If I Continued To Read Great Books, Eventually I Would Write Something Worthy Of Publication. I Understood I Might Be In My Forties Or My Fifties Or Even My Sixties, But I Felt Confident That It Would Happen.

I Myself Am Made Entirely Of Flaws, Stitched Together With Good Intentions.

Just As I Had Long Suspected, A Person Didn't Really Need Math For Anything Anyway. Maybe Some People Did. Some Limited People.

I Don't Believe In The Concept Of A Soul Mate. Because We Are All Unique, But We're Also Simply Too Similar.

I Like, Though, That People Have A Hunger To Connect With Other People. They're Desperate To Know That You're Not Lying To Them Or Misleading Them.

I Was Like A Packet Of Powdered Sea Monkeys And They Were Like Water.

When I First Thought Of Being A Writer I Had Visions Of Stacks Of Books In Stores With My Name On Them, That Sort Of Thing. But I Never Imagined This Would Be The Reaction.

Part Of Me Believes That Love Is More Valuable When You Have To Work For It.

(the New Boyfriend) Knows I Write Every Day For Hours But Has No Idea That All I’m Writing About Is Me. It Seems Wiser To Let Him Think I’m An Aspiring Novelist Instead Of Just An Alcoholic With A Year Of Sobriety Who Spends Eight Hours A Day Writing About The Other 16.

To Me, These People Were As Exotic As Animals In A Zoo. I'd Never Seen Anything Like Them. I Wasn't Sure Whether I Wanted To Be One Of Them Or Simply Live Among Them Taking Notes And Photographs.

Our Lives Are One Endless Stretch Of Misery Punctuated By Processed Fast Foods And The Occasional Crisis Or Amusing Curiosity.

I Think People Might Think, Oh, I Don't Want To Approach The Big Famous Author Because It's Embarrassing, But Then They Think For Two Seconds About It And Realize, This Is, Like, A Toilet Bowl Reader.

I Could Write Another Collection Of Personal Essays From What Has Happened To Me In The Last Year Alone. I Don't Seek Out My Material - It Finds Me. I Am Magnetic, Somehow.

I Used To Feel So Alone In The City. All Those Gazillions Of People And Then Me, On The Outside. Because How Do You Meet A New Person? I Was Very Stunned By This For Many Years. And Then I Realized, You Just Say, "hi." They May Ignore You. Or You May Marry Them. And That Possibility Is Worth That One Word.

Acceptance, When It Comes, Arrives In Waves: Listen With Your Chest. You Will Feel A Pendulum Swing Within You, Favoring One Direction Or Another. And That Is Your Answer. The Answer Is Always Inside Your Chest. The Right Choice Weighs More. That's How You Know. It Causes You To Lean In Its Direction.

I Love To Both Give And Receive Very Old Books.

Giving And Receiving

I Never Question The Way I Write. Writing Is The Only Thing That's Without Seams For Me. It's An Effort To Talk Because My Pictures Have To Be Turned Into These Sounds. It's An Effort To Be Alive. It's Work. But Writing Is Wonderful.

It Was Like Living In A New House. I Saw The Undersides Of Tables, Walked Through The Tangle Of Chair Legs. It Would Be Good To Be A Dog, I Thought. You Would Feel Safe Surrounded By All Of These Leggy Objects That Never Tried To Run Away.

When People Meet Me, Many Times They're Very Surprised Because They Expect Someone Who Is Kind Of Wacky With Seven Piercings And Very Hip And Cool And New York City, And I'm Not.

I Don't Sit Down At Nine In The Morning And Begin Writing And Then Take A Break For Lunch And Stop At Four. I Have No Structure Like That. I Am At My Computer Constantly, More Or Less Attached To It. I Live On-line And Hate Being Off-line And Don't Care How Unhealthy It Is.

And I Tend To Listen To Npr When I'm Not Writing.

The Most Valuable Moments And Experiences That Life Has To Offer Are Found Only Along Its Most Treacherous Paths.

Perfection Is The Satin-lined Casket Of Creativity And Originality. If You Are A Perfectionist, At Least Stop Telling Everybody You're One And Try To Get Over It Yourself, Alone In Your Home With The Lights Off

I Felt Deeply Tricked. Stunned. And Furious. I Also Felt My Default Emotion: Numbness.

Like Cubic Zirconia, I Only Look Real. I'm An Imposter. The Fact Is, I Am Not Like Other People.

Real Optimism Is Not The Pep Talk You Give Yourself. It Is Earned Through The Labor Involved In Emotional Housekeeping.

The Truth Is Humbling, Terrifying, And Often Exhilarating. It Blows The Doors Off The Hinges And Fills The World With Fresh Air.

Because Here Is The Truth: If You Want To Have A Chance At Meeting Somebody With Whom You Are Genuinely Compatible, Never Put Your Best Foot Forward.

Long Marriages Have Ended In Ruin Over Tiny And Insignificant Grievances That Were Never Properly Aired And Instead Grew Into A Brittle Barnacle Of Hatred.

The Most I Would Do Was Use The Shadow Tool In Photoshop To Bring Out The Muscular Rips In My Stomach, Which Were Honestly There. Beneath The Fat.

When You Say, "i Need More Confidence," What You're Really Saying Is, "i Need Those People Over There To Approve Of Me." That Is The Desire To Control Other People And What They Think. The First Person Who Figures Out How To Do This Owns The World.

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