“I’m like a ventriloquist chasing his own voice. I can whisper and shout at the same time, and this is the closest approximation I have to a description of love. I would offer you something to drink, but I’m not in the kitchen, even though it may sound like I am.”

“I am a juxtaposition. And at the same time, I’m not. I’m always like this because I’m not always like this because I’m always in love.”

“I love like I’m thirsty. Can I offer you a tall glass of Sahara sand?
”

“I could make better pie-type love with a new stove!I heard his disembodied voice shout back, “Dick territory, babe. Don’t even think about it unless I’m there.”“Chick territory,” I kept shouting. “A stove’s in the kitchen!”“It’s got a plug and weighs over fifty pounds. Totally dick,” he shot back on his own shout.I gave in, turning to the plans while giggling.Totally dick.My old may was funny.”

“But even though I know my flaws are many (many many many), and there are always ways I could be better, and I should never stop working for that—I also need to give myself a break. I can cut myself some slack sometimes. Because I’m a work in progress. Because nobody is perfect. At least I acknowledge the mistakes I’ve made, and am making. At least I’m trying. That means something, doesn’t it?And just because I have room for improvement doesn’t mean I’m worthless, or that I have nothing to offer to, like, the world.”

“Maybe I’m drunk right now, even though I don’t remember drinking anything.When I’m drunk, I say things without thinking. Drinking numbs you from your ability toreason. It makes you forget your own character and become a crazy. Maybe I am acrazy now; I’m going through so much chaos these days that reality is hard to grasp.”