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I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 56
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Even
Life
Pointless
Convince
Telling
Body

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I just can't. I'm married. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.
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Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.
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It's as though I've been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here
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I don't like outlining, because books are organic things. Sometimes a book doesn't want to be written in a certain way.
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Why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?
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Being the survivor stinks.
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Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important.
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Gorillas are in danger of being wiped out by the Ebola virus. I feel like we have limited time to get to know them and understand them and they're going to disappear - that's terrifically sad. Wouldn't it be great if we could stop that?
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I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.
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You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of.
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With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.
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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.
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I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.
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...if you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.
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I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
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Although, pretending not to notice is almost worse than noticing.
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