The cancer I don't have is everywhere now.

That's why I write, because life never works except in retrospect. You can't control life, at least you can control your version.

A couple drinks. A couple aspirin. Repeat.

You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away.

What kind of dining set defines me as a person?

I suppose it’s comfort, perhaps a sense of self-control, doing worse things to yourself than the world will ever dare inflict.

You grow up to become living proof of your parents' limitations. Their less-than masterpiece.