My Mother Is The Best Storyteller. And

Waiting To Be 'better' Is The Wrong Approach. It's Learning To Live With It.

The Best Anyone Can Do Is Breathe In, Breathe Out And Wait For It To Pass.

I Know Of People Who Don't Believe It, But Depression Is An Illness, But Unlike, Say, A Broken Leg, You Don't Know When It'll Get Better.

For All Of My Life It Was The Size Of My Rear That Caused Me The Most Hand-wringing, But In This Nearly-50 Zone It Is My Stomach That Is The Problem. It Seems To Have Broken Free From Its Moorings And There Is No Knowing How Far It Will Roam.

Why Do We Have Such A Finite Capacity For Pleasure But An Infinite One For Pain?