Attempting Normal

by Marc Maron

I underline profusely but I don’t retain much.

Me too buddy

By thinking like this I protect myself from disappointment. And if anything other than the worst-case scenario unfolds, what a pleasant surprise!

My grandfather didn’t talk much and most of my memories of him involve him sitting quietly on the couch in his boxers with a bowl of summer fruit, eating nectarines with his large distended testicles hanging out of his shorts.

I had trapped and released four wild animals into my apartment.

I was living in a cat opera and I was the bad guy.

I was a crazy cat lady guy.

My parents were always too worried and panicky, too consumed with themselves to ever make me feel like things would be okay. So now I’m a panicky, worried, self-consumed adult who is fundamentally unable to feel like things will be okay.

I had to step back. I didn’t know if he was going to poke my eyes out and suck out my ocular jelly.

These hummingbirds seem like violent loners anyway,

I had to kill this mouse because it fucked with me and insulted my intelligence.

I am a forty-eight-year-old man in a bathtub wearing pants

“Was everyone screaming up there?” I had my headphones on and couldn’t really hear anyone but the guy behind me. She said, “No. Just you two.”

Not only did I not feel guilty, but I felt like I wanted to go back and steal more stuff from Whole Foods.