Today in my embalming lab we sliced, injected, and sutured a woman who is my thriving grandmother’s senior by only six days.
A psychiatrist myself, I don’t know why my identical twin sister, a poet, has spent a lifetime battling schizophrenia or why I escaped the same fate, but I know this: when I look in the mirror I still see her face.
I have experienced a bizarre feeling Monday morning when I realized I couldn’t wait to get to the office, even though I had a nice weekend with my friends.
There’s no life worse than surviving a failed suicide.
It seemed quite fitting that he lived on a dead-end street.
My life is a typography error.
Much like the song written by “Garbage,” I am always happy when it rains.
The one thing I don’t like about being an adult is the people always want to have serious, meaningful conversations.
I met the love of my life not on the subway or in a bar, but in my bowling class.
I stopped being depressed when I saw a snippet of the Jerry Springer episode entitled, “It all ends with a pig” and I knew that my life wasn’t that bad.
From waitress to dental assistant to deckhand to electronics tech to retirement has been a real trip!
She too, had been sexually assaulted by a five-year older brother at the age of nine, and suddenly, I had found a sister in life.
If I would have known inviting you into my bedroom would make you turn the invitations to the rest of my rooms down, I wouldn’t have been so hospitable.
I’m turning sixteen in a few months, but I feel like I’m the only person who misses being in the backseat; knowing that in a few years I’ll have to make all the decisions in life.
My life has been a never-ending series of bad haircuts and parking tickets.
I am descended from a long line of widows.
I acknowledged the fact that I have no life when the first thing I do every morning is check my e-mail.
My freshmen year of college isn’t even over yet and I’m already wishing I could start it over again.
The bottom of the coffee cup broke away like a Dutch dike with no little finger to slow the flow.
I love my cars so much I run them into other objects so I never have to share.
My good male friend always points out girls that he finds attractive– most of whom I completely disagree with– but then, I wonder why he doesn’t think I’m pretty?
Maybe I was wrong, but your “I love you” felt more heartfelt when you thought I was addicted.
I tried to sum up my life story into one fantastic sentence, but all I could think of was “shit happens.”
I stood under the stars as a man, and sang a requiem for the boy I had been.
Last night, on our second date, I came to the conclusion that you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
The work week seems to be a repeating blip that echoes a nasty scratch on the record of life.
I once thought that not growing up sick would make me a better person, but then I learned that the opposite was true.
While I was at work making money for her, she was with some other guy.
I was humble until the day I realized I was humble.
It wasn’t until the next day that they found out they had both called me at the same time and that, if they hadn’t, none of us would have been alive to realize it.
I should be sleeping, but I keep thinkig about all of the things I need to do, should have done, and about how I don’t want to screw everything up.
I should know better than to drink too much coffee and then contemplate what happens after death.
He asked me if I would marry him, and it was then, the second I said yes, I knew that he was not the love of my life.
This month began blackly with a death and ended radiantly with a marriage.
When I read that the moon is moving away from the Earth at a rate of an inch a year, I knew one day too, it would abandon me.