Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977-2002

by David Sedaris

Another old-fashioned practice I maintain is carrying a notebook, a small one I keep in my shirt pocket and never leave the house without. In it I register all the little things that strike me, not in great detail but just quickly. The following morning I’ll review what I jotted down and look for the most meaningful moment in the previous day, the one in which I felt truly present.

Omg I fucking love this too!

In order to record your life, you sort of need to live it. Not at your desk, but beyond it. Out in the world where it’s so beautiful and complex and painful that sometimes you just need to sit down and write about it.

Dad on friendship: “Sure, some people are nice. Real nice. Nice like carpets so you can walk all over them.”

Not a charmer, his dad

He didn’t say anything about my artwork but suggested right away that we sit on the bed in our underwear. But L. wasn’t wearing underwear. Instead he had on diapers and rubber pants. I was not braced.

Who among us would be?

I’ve got $12, no job, and unpaid rent. I’m depressed, I’m broke, and soon I’ll be out of drugs. I feel so sleazy and cheap. Still, I have two sculptures in the art museum.

Always look on the bright side of life

I’m always struck by how many times people get stabbed. It seems like it’s never just once or twice. It must be one of those activities that, once you get started, you just can’t stop.

Lines like this are why he makes the big bucks

Other people’s pain is uninteresting. My own, though, is spellbinding.

“I’m not a misogynist, I’m a misanthrope. I hate everyone equally.”

Over the past few years I’ve fallen deeper into the luxury pit. I used to get pleasure from sitting at the pancake house with a new library book, but now I mainly buy things and work crossword puzzles. In my twenties and early thirties I was able to disguise my shallowness, but now it’s written all over my shopping bags.

We turned to watch human feces and used toilet paper drop from the plane and onto the runway. Moments later we watched as the luggage handlers set our bags into the flowing river of waste.

Oh dear God, no