paper thin lies

The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
A few nights later, I am sitting by Grandma's bed, reading Mrs. Dalloway to her. It's evening. I look up; Grandma seems to be asleep. I stop reading, and close the book. Her eyes open.

"Hello," I say.
"Do you ever miss him?" she asks me.
"Every day. Every minute."
"Every minute," she says. "Yes. It's that way, isn't it?" She turns on her side and burrows into the pillow.

"Good night," I say, turning out the lamp.

As I stand in the dark looking down at Grandma in her bed, self-pity floods me as thought I have been injected with it. It's that way, isn't it? Isn't it.

(One of the few books I would admit to liking even though everyone else like it too.)

...

From today's 20 minutes long workout that I did in my room cause I was going stark raving mad from the lack of body activity, I found out I had wrists made of cheap porcelain, bug infested twigs for arms and that my fats don't contain much muscles, nor has any capacity to transform into muscles. My thighs, up till now, still shake like the earthquake that hit Sichuan due to its 2 minutes effort in the wall-squat or whatever it is called.