“Why is it upset? Shouldn't it be downset?”

“why is it upset? shouldn't it be downset?”

“Please stop," I said. "You're upsetting the black Santas.”

“God, people like that shouldn't be allowed to live.”

“Shouldn't letting go be painless if you've never learned how to hold on?”

“We left. We did not say: Don't drive, You're drunk. We did not say: We aren't letting you in that car when you are upset. We did not say: We insist on going with you. We did not say: This can wait until tomorrow. Anything-everything-can wait.”

“And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation. Everything that mattered except one lousy picture was in the trash, but it felt so great. I started jogging, wanting to put even more distance between myself and school. It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.”