Real optimism is not the pep talk you give yourself. It is earned through the labor involved in emotional housekeeping.

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.

I always tried to learn Greek, but all I got out of it was, "poulaki mou." ["My little chicken."]

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?

His laugh is made if porch swings and lemonade

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.

You cannot be a prisoner of your past against your will. Because you can only live in the past inside your mind.