People are people, messy and mutable, combining differently with one another from day to day - even hour to hour.

I like it that order exists somewhere even if it shatters near me.

Now my mother, interestingly enough, was not a feminist in her own mind.

Normal' is a dryer setting.

Sometimes I wonder how normal normal people are, and I wonder that most in the grocery store.

I actually feel that the different kinds of stories come out of different parts of my brain.

Everything in my life that I value has been gained at the cost of not saying what I really think and saying what they want me to say.