Ramona Blue

by Julie Murphy

I’m not this sex-crazed maniac or anything, but I’m a human being. I think about sex. Girls think about sex. Sometimes a lot. I hate this idea that boys are thinking about sex nonstop and girls are thinking about—what? Stationery and garden gnomes? No.

It seems to me that childhood ends and adult life begins the moment you stop believing your parents can rescue you.

I’m starting to think that maybe the gist of life is learning how to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.

part of being family is accepting one another’s flaws with the knowledge that sometimes people never change, and you have to decide what and who you can live with or without.