Uncomfortable Moment #4080: Relating to Cat Marnell is SHADY

Here are excerpts that I related to...out of just ONE column. 

At 4:00 AM in SoHo I would stop and look at the blank-faced mannequins in the windows of the shuttered stores on Broadway and feel something like my soul if I believed in souls slipping out of the top of my head like steam from a kettle and rising like street exhaust into the blinky-black sky. Adios, ghost. Then I'd walk home, listening to the Rolling Stones: YOU'RE A STAR FUCKER STAR FUCKER STAR FUCKER STAR FUCKER STAR YES YOU ARE YES YOU ARE YES YOU ARE ARE ARE ARE.

I'd sit in the middle of it all and lay, like I said, in a child's pose, with my head on the floor. When morning came, I'd go out and crack psychiatrists like coconuts on Fifth Avenue. Gimme more.

Back when I was full of shame I'd smoke a cigarette on my window ledge and talk to God on the 16th floor, age 18.

If anybody—God, do they? If anybody saw, if anybody knew… I used to think three, five, ten times a night. Oh God, oh God, I am so defective and uncool and I would die if anybody—anybody—discovers how gross I am. How crazy my apartment is. How meth lab-y my mind is. How broken my brain is. And I would watch all the lights change on East 86th Street and I would smoke and cry. God. GOD. I'd throw the lit butt out the window. What brand of cigarettes did I smoke back then? Camel Lights. I am the only person like this in the entire world, and I will throw myself off the motherfucking roof if anybody ever finds out the truth about me.