The way I see it, love is an amusement park, and food its souvenir.

When we die, no one remembers us for what we weighed. Our weight isn't etched into our headstones.

What we wait around a lifetime for with one person, we can find in a moment with someone else.

If someone wants to lead a double life, they will find a way to do it. And they can promise you things until your nerves unfold and you can finally put up your feet. But it can all be a lie. There are no guarantees, even when people mean what they say at the time. People change their minds. People die. And the hurt is as real as a baseball bat.

My therapist told me I need to learn to love myself. It sounds easy enough, but really, how do you just wake up one day and learn that? It feels like something you should just do involuntarily, like swallowing or blinking, but now I have to work on it. It feels so forced. I mean, I know I went to a good school, and people tell me I'm smart and creative, but I don't KNOW that. I don't know how to make myself feel that.

I could stand to lose 10 or 15 pounds, but honestly, I'm happy the way I am. I feel comfortable with it. I'd rather have that extra 10, 15 pounds on me than live a lifestyle of trying to sustain this unattainable weight.

I can trace every romance of my life back to a meal. My memories are enhanced by the tender morsels had at tables across from lovers, on blankets with friends who'd eventually become more, in banquets, barbecues, and breakfasts.