Present the conflict or the mother as the conflict or the mother as the object of conflict during childhood.

In elementary school, when kids talked about being “Christian,” I thought they were talking about race. 

I have a tendency to get bored easily, both in relationships and in life. One of the things that made me feel confident about marrying Scott is that there is quite possibly no one weirder than him.

Syllables hinge on a rustle of wings, but the difference of sound is the difference in friction between lips and teeth.

It was probably 3:3o in the morning and I was wide-awake because of the acid. I was anxious to do something but nothing in particular. I was jittery, lively.

There is nothing romantic about being young and dark and confused. Pain is real. It's funny on Twitter but it sucks irl. 

A while ago, I predicted Taylor Swift's career arc, and so far, I'm correct.

When I was young, I wanted one of those Davy Crockett hats. Because I admire psychopaths.

One time I was sitting near a row of bushes along the side of the house playing with some toys. Immersed in what I was doing. And a thick river of shit flowed from my asshole.

Age 10: Wrote an essay for school about how I wanted to be a rapper when I grew up. When I got home and told my dad about it he said "Rap for me" then lay in my bed while I rapped "Lose Yourself" by Eminem for him. When I finished he told me I needed to "get into it more, not just stand there with [my] hands in my pockets."

“For years after the war and after the camps, Chava Rosenfarb woke up every morning at 4:00 a.m. to write. She’d open her eyes in the darkness and slip out of bed without waking her husband...

And then I found her on a VHS. My double, my twin, my doppelganger. Laura Palmer.

Sunday paper. Card Showers announced for Cecile Jarry, 99, and Fred Aldrich, 90. Meeting of the Sherlock Holmes Club this Wednesday.

What we liked to do that fall—once mornings had grown thin around the edges, the sun sheer like white linen and gone by four o’clock—was to put on eyeliner and these old fur stoles she had collected from thrift store heaps...

Against what, exactly, is Karl Ove Knausgaard struggling? 

My feelings of purposelessness and inadequacy vanished. My feelings of self-pity and despair were replaced by love and affection. No more sleeping around. No more yearning for The One. I had found Her. She was here.

This essay is not about Star Trek in the way that Star Trek is not about space.

I spend my free time an appropriate amount of bed sick. I keep a lot of spare pieces of glass up my carpeted self. I mean a literal debris of glass happens when I sit forward.

I thought it was a baby. It was possible, though not—and this is the important part—likely. 

I made this when my dad and stepmom came to visit. I also made it for Scott’s parents and kids. I guess those are called my in-laws and stepchildren now. It’s a real “crowd-pleaser”!!! 

I towed my worldly goods to a remote plot with real snakes in the grass, real primroses near pathways, and I wasn’t a tisket-a-tasket girl running errands but an adult with a narrow skill set that had sent me toward serial opportunities, jobs, my career not careering but ascendant as I checked off items on widely circulated how-to lists, but no one could tell me how to succeed at love. 

My daughter made pee pee in the potty, and my mother, who watches her on... more

In the summer between Michael Sam’s selection in the NFL Draft and the day he was cut, his jersey ranked as the second most popular of all rookie jerseys, behind only Johnny Manziel of the Cleveland Browns. Almost like there are gay sports fans.

A few weeks ago my wife told that I have some mild hoarding tendencies.

She said she was sick of it. The thousands of marijuana roaches... more

I pass a woman who holds a red polka dot Christmas music box in her lap. I never see her turn the key, but as I scan the aisles for my specific things—the white balsamic vinegar, the slivers of blanched almonds—I hear Jingle Bells faintly, somewhere behind me, no matter where I am.