I Went Grey At 12,

I Love Prada. Not So Much The Clothes, Which Are For Malnourished Thirteen-year-olds, But I Covet, With Covety Covetousness, The Shoes And Handbags. Like, I Love Them. If I Was Given A Choice Between World Peace And A Prada Handbag, I'd Dither. (i'm Not Proud Of This, I'm Only Saying.)

People Get Sick And Sometimes They Get Better And Sometimes They Don't. And It Doesn't Matter If The Sickness Is Cancer Or If It's Depression. Sometimes The Drugs Work And Sometimes They Don't. Sometimes The Drugs Work For A While And Then They Stop. Sometimes The Alternative Stuff Works And Sometimes It Doesn't. And Sometimes You Wonder If No Outside Interference Makes Any Difference At All; If An Illness Is Like A Storm, If It Simply Has To Run Its Course And, At The End Of It, Depending On How Robust You Are, You Will Be Alive. Or You Will Be Dead.

You Know What It's Like. Sometimes, You Meet A Wonderful Person, But It's Only For A Brief Instant. Maybe On Vacation Or On A Train Or Maybe Even In A Bus Line. And They Touch Your Life For A Moment, But In A Special Way. And Instead Of Mourning Because They Can't Be With You For Longer, Or Because You Don't Get The Chance To Know Them Better, Isn't It Better To Be Glad That You Met Them At All?

It's Not Like You Take The Right Turning And You Get Everlasting Happiness And You Take The Wrong One And Your Life's A Disaster. In Real Life It's Often Impossible To Tell Which Decision Is The One You Should Make Because What You Stand To Gain And What You Stand To Lose Are Sometimes-often-neck And Neck.

I Loved Being In My Own Head So Much, It Was Getting Harder And Harder Being With Other People.