I have a chemical imbalance that, in its most extreme state, will lead me to a mental hospital.

I was born imagining myself with an apron on, with pies cooling on the window sill and babies crying upstairs. I thought that all that stuff would somehow anchor me to the planet, that it was the weight I needed to keep from just flying off into space.

My mother had an amazing life, and she's someone to admire.

I will usually be in denial about that, too, because I really don't like that. Sometimes I will recognize it and sometimes someone will say, "are you okay?" And then you think, "Oh, maybe I'm not."

No, as it turns out, I really like being congratulated on my weight loss. I like it so much, it's tragic.

Still, the word "boyfriend" starts to sound pathetic after age 30.

I am a very discreet human when it comes to other people.