I am a spy in the house of me. I report back from the front lines of the battle that is me. I am somewhat nonplused by the event that is my life.

If some gang were threatening your family, you'd go looking for someone butch to help, right? Any maybe if your mother were sick or something, you'd find someone a bit more fey.

Waiting, done at really high speeds, will frequently look like something else.

Part of my gestalt is that I still feel a little bit like a wallflower. Even in my own life. I talk about myself behind my back.

My father was a joyous, joyous spirit, he really was. He was a hedonist, that was just - he enjoyed life, thrust up to the elbows with it. He was a terrible father. I don't know that he was parented that well.

What worries me is, what if this guy is really the one for me and I just haven't had enough therapy yet for me to be comfortable with having found him.

My mom had the breakdown for the family, and I went into therapy for all of us.