I'm almost thirty and my day job is folding shirts at the Gap. Have you seen my room? I'm not messy. I'm rebelling against folding.

It seemed cruelly unfair to me, even then, how fast your life can change before you have an opportunity to rethink your choices. We should get second chances on the big stuff. We should come equipped with erasers attached to the tops of our heads. Like pencils. We should be able to flip over and scribble away mistakes, at least once or twice during the duration of our existence, especially in matters of life and death.

And if my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle.

We had pathetically simple dreams: to do meaningful work that we could be proud of, to be together, and to be happy.

I'm not messy. I'm rebelling against folding.

For the record, if I were Superman, a pale, scrawny guy holding a guitar would be Kryptonite.

I would have remembered the good stuff. Nobody ever remembers the good stuff.