In some ways, blogging is like drinking - it gives a person permission to be a total asshole.

I felt deeply tricked. Stunned. And furious. I also felt my default emotion: numbness.

Like every child, I adored her. Until I formed a brain and got to know her.

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?

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.

Life would be fabric-softener, tuna-salad-on-white, PTA-meeting normal.

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.