Another excerpt from my little book:

This book is my Twitter account when I forget my damn phone.  It might also be my Twitter account if my fucking house burns down--animals inside--because I didnt' turn off my stupid straightener.  The stupid pink thing that melts brown holes in white Formica.

I hate that I've been forgetting everything lately:  names, events, faces..."I think I saw you--".  The paranoid hypochondriac in me imagines the worst...I have early onset Alzheimer's, a tumor, a rare disease.  The kind of nasty illness that will cause people to remark about how brave I am.  "What a survivor."  And really, I'd still just be me.  Kind of insecure, but grossly overconfident in my own mediocrity, living day to day like anyone else.  I wouldn't suddenly be a "better" person...just someone who is a little pudgy, flat chested, and oh yeah, NOW I'M DYING.

Silly.