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Chapters (14)
  1. Cover
  2. Author biography
  3. Also by Carrie Fisher
  4. Title page
  5. Copyright page
  6. Dedication page
  7. Prologue
  8. Postcards from the Edge
  9. A Banquet of Crumbs
  10. Dreaming Outside Your Head
  11. Dysphoria
  12. The Dating Accident
  13. Epilogue
  14. Acknowledgments

Here’s what I’ve come up with so far: a) I’ll get back into therapy, maybe with a woman therapist this time; b) I’ll stop coloring my hair and dye it back to its normal color—I’ll artificially go natural; c) I’ll only date people I really like, so I can feel like there’s some point to it; d) I’ll fix the eating thing; e) I’m going to slip my hand out of the comforting clasp of chemicals—No More Drugs. Also, get up early every day, read more, keep a journal, talk on the phone less, do less shopping and, eventually, have a child with someone. Obviously, the plan is in a really rough early phase, so I’ll keep you posted as this gets honed down.

Honey, I’m honed.

Your elfin buddy,

S.

DEAR GRAN,

Yet another offering to add to your collection of my poetic works.

Oh wow now

I’ve done it

I’ve made a mess

I feel a fool

I feel obsessed

When we get to the good part

Will I have something to wear?

I know my heart’s in the right place

’Cause I hid it there

I act so much like myself

It’s a little unreal

It’s a lot of work

It’s no big deal

My heart’s in the right place

Ticking away inside my torso

I’m just like other folks

Only that much more so

I remind myself

Of someone I’ve never met

Of someone I’d like to meet

Of someone I can’t forget

I’m not insane

But I’m halfway there

You can tell from the smoke

Rising from my molten hair

Follow me down insight road

And I’ll show you the sights along the way

I’m a flash and the world is my pan

Have a nice day

Give Granpaw a kiss if he remembers me. This is the kind of vacation I might need a vacation after. I’ll call you when I get home.

Your ever-lovin’

Suzanne

Postcards from the Edge

SUZANNE

DAY ONE

Maybe I shouldn’t have given the guy who pumped my stomach my phone number, but who cares? My life is over anyway. Besides, what was I supposed to do? He came up to my room and gave me that dumb stuffed animal that looks like a thumb, and there I was lying in bed twelve hours after an overdose. I wasn’t feeling my most attractive. I’d thrown up scallops and Percodan on him the night before in the emergency room. I thought that it would be impolite to refuse to give him my number. He probably won’t call, anyway. No one will ever call me again.

DAY TWO