I have reached this interesting place where I’m not willing to share all of myself. That may be because I am working on things that can get ugly, or I’m simply changing. Whatever the reason, more of my writing ends up in a notebook or a journal these days than online. It’s not that what…
The maintenance guy thinks I’m a serial killer. We’ve had some issues with our smoke detectors going off at random intervals, and the joys of apartment life allow for a quick email to the maintenance department. A lovely man arrived yesterday. He changed some batteries. I stood with him under the alarm near my office…
I can’t write about cancer or surgeries or recovery or healing. Not because it’s too soon or I’m sad. I wrote a post about what I’ve been through and how it sucked and promptly deleted it. I can’t remember the last time I deleted a blog post, but God the thing was long and boring,…
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…
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…
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…
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…
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…
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…
