From the outside, there appear to be two kinds of single parents. You can do it all, strive for perfection, and pull it off. Or you can barely get by, almost fall apart, and struggle for breath. For me, though, it has always been both. Strength and struggle seem to go hand in hand.

In my new apartment, I will have exactly as many books as fit onto my shelves, and they will remain color-coded for eternity. I will also reread them all and maintain a perfect memory of exactly what happens.