It's a shame we can't just admit that we failed family living, sell the house, split up the money, and get on with our lives.

There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if could rent one for the holidays.

I am the space between my thighs, daylight shining through.

Do I want to die from the inside out or the outside in?

Having a friend made everything else suck less.

I don't say anything and I feel awful. I tell somebody and I feel worse. I'm having trouble finding a middle ground.

Two days later, two days before Christmas, I am judged fat and sane enough to be kicked out of the hospital. The plan to send me straight back to New Seasons won't work. There is no room at the inn for a leather Lia-skin plumped full of messy things. Not yet. The director promises Dr. Marrigan he'll have a bed for me next week. I'm stable enough to go home until then. They all say I'm stable.