I've never had WiFi at home. I'm too easily distracted, and YouTube is too tempting.

If you think I'm annoying and preachy now, you should have known me in grade school.

It was just an idea I had, that it could be cool to have a book covered in fake fur.

At that moment I was sure. That I belonged in my skin. That my organs were mine and my eyes were mine and my ears, which could only hear the silence of this night and my faint breathing, were mine, and I loved them and what they could do.

In hospitals I feel palpable comfort. I feel the competence, the expertise, so much education and money, all of the supplies sterile, everything packaged, sealed tight. My fears evaporate when the automatic doors shush open.

Maybe he was more than the sum of his broken parts.

My voice and movements are restricted by the things I own.