Sisterland

We all make mistakes, don't we? But if you can't forgive yourself, you'll always be an exile in your own life.

Children are nothing but a problem people create and then congratulate themselves on solving.

you know what her punishment is for tormenting you way back when?" he said. I looked at him. He said, "her punishment is being her,

Maybe my homesickness was a form of prescience because when I look back, it's the circumstances of this very car ride that I recognize as irretrievable: the experience of driving nowhere in particular with my sister, both of us seventeen years old, the open windows causing our hair to blow wildly; that feeling of being unencumbered; that confidence that our futures would inform the way we wanted them to and our real lives were just beginning.

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

My own preferences had little bearing on the outcome of events.

She would say that we create our own reality-that the truth, ultimately, is what we choose to believe.

Our windows were open, and the radio had been playing continuously--not one but two Billy Joel songs had come on during our drive--and the air was dense with the humidity of a midwestern summer, weather that even then made me homesick, though it was hard to say for what. Maybe my homesickness was a form of prescience because when I look back, it's the circumstances of this very car ride that I recognize as irretrievable: the experience of driving nowhere in particular with my sister, both of us seventeen years old, the open windows causing our hair to blow wildly; that feeling of being unencumbered; that confidence that our futures would unfold the way we wanted them to and our real lives were just beginning.

I want to open myself up, I want to experience other dimensions, I don’t want to be bound by the rules of this world. Does that make me a freak?

Maybe I have always been, as Vi would subsequently accuse me, someone who creates obstacles for myself than looks around in surprise, wondering where they came from.

Rudolph Walsh, you are my fierce advocate, and your wit and wisdom

we create our own reality—that the truth, ultimately, is what we choose to believe.