Category: writing

Handsome Coat

I have determined a lot comes down to my cuticles. If someone wants to know where I’m at, how close to the losing-my-shit line I am, or whether or not I’ve had bread for breakfast and lunch, all they need to do is look at my cuticles. I’m not a cuticle abuser; the opposite, when…

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Fur Lined

Jack caught a squirrel. He has been watching them tightrope across the back fence, fling themselves from tree to rooftop and back again since we arrived one August afternoon. Jack tracks his audacious furry obsession from the window of my office. He attempts to outsmart them with a quiet approach and a sneak attack, only…

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Changing Room

I’ve seen three hummingbirds today. There aren’t a lot of birds in Los Angeles. That’s not true, there are birds, but not like the birds near my old house. We had bird nests and birds everywhere. Here things are more city, more crows and seagulls. Today I want to go back. I want to go…

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Tide

I should have joined the circus. The workday is over. I spent most of it staring at the wall, and then in a last ditched effort at productivity, I put washi tape on an otherwise dull folder. This successful writer—with—loads—of—hashtag—2021—goals accomplishment left me with the idea that things would be better if I’d joined the…

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Ostrich Feathers

Eight, I counted. Eight blog posts in 2020. All the time in the world with nowhere safe to go, an endless barrage of topics, and I have never written less. Maybe I was traumatized by the pandemic or the litany of lies we tell ourselves as a nation. Maybe I struggled to get over surviving…

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Folding

I don’t know what I am doing. You’ll say that’s not true, or I’m “taking a break,” but yesterday I practiced my print handwriting. I practiced it all day. I made tea. Got out a notebook and practiced my letters. Height, spacing, different pens, you name the variation, and I was working it. This may…

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Wringing

There’s no sense in lying. I fell in strong like with this picture, and since I have to write a blog post today, I went with something that makes me smile. No. I do not know the adorable tatted man or his puppy dog. I simply needed inspiration, and there they were on iStock. Today…

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Peekaboo Blouse

There are times when writing is the only thing that makes sense. I’m not talking about the bullshit on Instagram about writing because “I have to.” No one has to do anything except for the taxes and death bit. Writers can be an obnoxious and overdramatic lot. I once typed somewhere that writing is “like…

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Pack

  I turned ten years old on July 3rd. Well, not really. I started my blog ten years ago. I don’t like numbers. Their restrictions go past high school algebra into the mindset of our culture. Numbers can make us feel falsely badass or tragically small. I guess that alone explains why July 3rd came…

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