One of my biggest fears is that I'm going to die alone in my home, and my cats will eat me because I am too dead to open their food cans.

Irony of the day: arthritis medication with a cap that old people can't get off, because of their arthritis.

That's like leaping off a precipice and trying to knit yourself a parachute on the way down.

I'm an open book. But some of the pages are stuck together.

When I am alone, my table manners are rather piggish, but i suppose that's because I don't eat at a table, I eat at my desk. Which could be considered a table, except we tend to define things by their function, and this particular surface is a desk, so perhaps piggish is unfair.

These thrill seeker people doing extreme sports...they have a hideous accident, go through agonizing recovery, and then go back to that activity that nearly killed them...that's not facing your fear, that's embracing your stupidity.