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My window fogs and this makes me feel like there is no world outside of the car.

Augusten Burroughs

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Augusten Burroughs
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 23
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Pittsburg
Pennsylvania
Makes
Feel
Feels
Like
Fogs
World
Fog
Car
Window
Outside

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Not crazy in a 'let's paint the kitchen bright red!' sort of way. But crazy in a 'gas oven, toothpaste sandwich, I am God' sort of way. Gone were the days when she would stand on the deck lighting lemon-scented candles without then having to eat the wax.p28
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Real optimism is not the pep talk you give yourself. It is earned through the labor involved in emotional housekeeping.
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I loved most when his eyelashes twitched and he blinked, and suddenly happiness was there inside his eyes. Unmistakable. Like a single word printed on a clean white page.
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My attraction had been immediate and profound. And it had nothing to do with the way he looked. My attraction was to what resided between his lines.
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but I am not here ironically I am here sincerely.
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I think I love him, but I also think that you can love people who aren't good for you.
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This is what you should know about losing someone you love. They do not travel alone. You go with them.
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I felt deeply tricked. Stunned. And furious. I also felt my default emotion: numbness.
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Fact: upon locking yourself our of your apartment you will immediately need to use the bathroom. Fact: and then you will stand in place and watch your door. You will just stare. As though rebuffed by it. As though it has done this to you.
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God, I felt certain, did not mind that I didn’t press my hands together to pray. I was casual, but I was sincere. I knew that God existed as the Correct Answer inside my chest.
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I once read about a guy who lost his arms in a fire. The nurse took pity on him and gave him a hand job. I don't even get that.
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Like cubic zirconia, I only look real. I'm an imposter. The fact is, I am not like other people.
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The dark side of blogging is, of course, people can be (and are) just savage and uncivilized, deeply cruel and fully unaccountable.
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But then, look at me. My brain is incorrectly formed, and I'm shaped like a tube. Plus, I'm an alcoholic, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, was raised in a cult and have no education. So, really, if you think about it, the only thing that separates me from the guy with the stinky foot and no teeth is a book deal and some cologne.
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Imperfections are attractive when their owners are happy with them.
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I did not consider him to be any kind of a genius. I considered him deeply lacking in the area that mattered most in life. Star quality.
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I think people might think, oh, I don't want to approach the big famous author because it's embarrassing, but then they think for two seconds about it and realize, this is, like, a toilet bowl reader.
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Nobody's trying to kill you, Deirdre. You're killing yourself.
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But even with my minimal amount of fame, there are certain perks. Recently, I was at a movie premier, and at the party after the movie, Meryl Streep was loose, walking around the room like a normal person. Absolutely nothing was preventing me from lunging toward her and shrieking Dingoes ate my baby! Dingoes ate my baby!
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