Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead

I guess this is why Catholics teach that suicide is a sin. They were running out of priests.

Before I even knew the word ‘gay,’ I knew I was gay.

I’ve got it all figured out. We’re a parasite. Other animals on this planet coexist with nature. We don’t; we’re like scabies. Tiny mites covering the outer layer of earth, burrowing into it, infecting it. We are like tapeworm

I felt like I was never in the moment I was in. I was always looking back, or
worried about the future

I keep noticing so many people aren’t happy, and it’s been making me feel sick. I keep looking at everyone and thinking, Oh my God, I just want them to smile. I keep staring at people’s mouths. Do you know what I mean? I keep thinking, Oh my God, I just wish you were smiling—”
Rosemary nods. “Yes, I have thought about that too.” She looks at my mouth. “Now, do you ever think about how people might wish that for you?”

I meant to portray Gilda’s relationship with Eleanor as one area of her life that makes her happy.

This is why Gilda mentions that it’s ironic that Catholicism was theoretically created to help people feel safe and meaningful when it takes away one of the few things that makes her feel like her life is worth living at all.

One day I will die, and one day everyone I know will die. One day everyone I don’t know will die. One day every animal and plant on this planet will die. One day earth itself will die, and one day all of humanity, and all relics of human life.

I am thinking about how it must feel for a hook to snag your cheek and for your body to be dragged into a space where you can’t breathe.

I wonder, why do we do this? We give each other rocks and wear expensive clothing to sign papers saying we will be someone’s partner until one of us dies. We involve the government.