I'm at the eye doctor. I'm always at the eye doctor. It's like this is my profession. I am no longer a writer, I'm now an optomoligical patient. By the way, this job doesn't pay well.

It's not fair," I said. "It's just so goddamned unfair." "The world," he said, "is not a wishgranting factory.

My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.

Maybe life is not about accomplishing some bullshit markers.

Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? But I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself—if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?

I could try to pretend that I didn't care anymore, but it could never be true again. You can't just make yourself matter, and then die, Alaska, because now, I am irretrievably different, and I'm sorry I let you go, yes, but you made the choice.

It's not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you.