One Thing I Know For

Clutter And Mess Show Us That Life Is Being Lived.

I Didn't Write About My Mother Much In The Third Year After She Died. I Was Still Trying To Get My Argument Straight: When Her Friends Or Our Relatives Wondered Why I Was Still So Hard On Her, I Could Really Lay Out The Case For What It Had Been Like To Be Raised By Someone Who Had Loathed Herself, Her Husband, Even Her Own Name.

I'm Here To Be Me, Which Is Taking A Great Deal Longer Than I Had Hoped.

Some People May Have Thought That This Book Was Too Personal, Too Confessional. But What These People Think About Me Is None Of My Business.

Perfectionism Is The Voice Of The Oppressor.