People see me and they squeal like tropical birds or seals stranded on the beach.

I have a girlfriend who talks like that all the time. Who constantly complain about their periods and plumbing and stuff.

I think of my body as a side effect of my mind. Like a thought I had once that manifested itself-- Oops! Oh no! Manifested. Look at this. Now we have to buy clothes and everything.

Having waited my entire life to get an award for something, anything...I now get awards all the time for being mentally ill. It’s better than being bad at being insane, right? How tragic would it be to be runner-up for Bipolar Woman of the Year?

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

For Star Wars, they had me tape down my breasts because there are no breasts in space. I have some. I have two.

I'm really grateful that I could write. But I don't even mind it going on around me.