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203 pages, Paperback
First published March 15, 2016
Higher self: like, why does it have to be all or nothing? why r u just str8 up good or str8 up evil? what if u r a v loveable douchebag? what if u r a heavenly asshole? what if u r a destructive beautiful person?
Is it that I am old? Is my skin a crocodile? Was it that I am already married? Perhaps it is that I am of the stars and he is of the earth.
Burping, to me, is the most sexual element of vomiting, because the sound is so primal. In my fantasies, the vomiters always burp a lot. I frequent the burp fetish forums, though I never leave a comment. One girl on the forums says her ultimate fantasy is a guy burping into her vagina as he gives her head. I'd have to agree that's a sexual ideal.
…with an open marriage, I was consistently reminded that having sex with my husband, having a husband, was a choice. As these men were separate from me, so too was my husband. I saw them each with new eyes and was reminded that I could see my husband, each time, with new eyes.
Also, when I knew that [my husband] was having sex with another woman, I would get to envision him the way another woman might envision him. I liked thinking about other women wanting him. It made me want him more. […] Also, he had to tell me all the details after. This gave me a feeling of control. My biggest fear was to be the wife in the dark. I preferred to be the wingman, the locker-room buddy…
I have the brain of an addict and the heart of a sixteen-year-old girl.
I do not trust the universe to provide enough of anything to fill my apparently bottomless hunger. That's the case with my consumption of a whole pint of diet ice cream with six packets of Equal poured into it every single night. It's a way of offering myself something cloyingly saccharine and seemingly infinite. I don't believe that the world, or god, will give me that sweetness. So I am giving it to myself. I am going to be full of sweetness that the day may not have provided. And I am defeating the laws of nature by doing this with diet ice cream. Most night I would rather curl up with the diet ice cream than be in the world.
I know I have an ocean of sadness inside me and I have been damming it my entire life. I always imagined that something was supposed to rescue me from the ocean. But maybe the ocean is its own ultimate rescue - a reprieve from the linear mind and into the world of feeling. Shouldn't someone have told me this at birth? Shouldn't someone have said, "Enjoy your ocean of sadness, there is nothing to fear in it," so I didn't have to build all those dams? I think some of us are less equipped to deal with our oceans, or maybe we are just more terrified, because we see and feel a little extra. So we build our shitty dams. But inevitably, the dam always breaks again. It breaks again and the ocean speaks to me. It says, "I'm alive and it's real." It says, "I'm going to die and it's real."
"I had this weird intuition that if I could just make it to my Bat Mitzvah I could both prevent the Holocaust from happening again and also get all my friends back.
Strangely, my intuition was right."
"Babies are born, because parents feel that they themselves are not enough. So, parents, never condemn us for trying to fill our existential holes, when we are but the fruit of your own vain attempts to fill yours."