Savor the imminent weirdness of the day.

You think that what I've told you is an anecdote. But really it isn't. It's my whole life. It's the only story I have.

In truth, there are only two realities: the one for people who are in love or love each other, and the one for people who are standing outside all that.

What's agitating about solitude is the inner voice telling you that you should be mated to somebody, that solitude is a mistake. The inner voice doesn't care about who you find. It just keeps pestering you, tormenting you.

When all the details fit in perfectly, something is probably wrong with the story.

In February, the overcast sky isn’t gloomy so much as neutral and vague. It’s a significant factor in the common experience of depression among the locals. The snow crunches under your boots and clings to your trousers, to the cuffs, and once you’re inside, the snow clings to you psyche, and eventually you have to go to the doctor. The past soaks into you in this weather because the present is missing almost entirely.

Needing something is not the same thing as being interested in the thing itself.