Just finished reading Augusten Burroughs' A Wolf At the Table. Searing. I really couldn't read too much at one time. I was discussing it with Adam today, just how intense it was, and he said: "Some lives really don't have balance."

Really, the only way Burroughs could've improved his book is by copping to that -- saying, hey, my family really was that fucked-up, there weren't many light moments. The book really does get more and more grisly.

There is redemption in the end, though. I'm hoping the same for my own project. We all hope for it for ourselves.