I'm a fast writer.

Over the years it became clear that sometimes you fall in love only to realize you don’t even like the person.

I would be content being a housewife if I could find the kind of man who wouldn’t treat me like one.

It’s sad to think that we’ve gotten to this that we actually have to think about how to go about finding a man. But what’s even sadder is that some men make you feel guilty for looking.

I pray for my mother. That if she can’t ever recover what she’s lost or what she’s losing, that she not feel like she’s lost. I pray that we make her feel necessary and valued as long as possible. That she comes to know comfort, even if I can’t provide it myself.

I would like to think that as a result of not just my own experiences, but at least being empathetic and compassionate about other people’s experiences and plights and tragedies, that I am affected by it and learn from it.

I’m not trying to be a middle aged centerfold, I just want to look at myself naked and not be disgusted.

I’m more interested in interpersonal relationships – between lovers families, siblings. That’s why I write about how we treat each other.

You promised me you would never cheat on me, that you’d love me forever and we would never get a divorce.” “I still love you, and I hate that I cheated on you, and I wish we’d never gotten divorced.

This is not the way I dreamed it. This is not what I had hope for, what I asked for. I want to skip this part. I want to push the fast-forward button until I get back to happy.