I have this gorgeous journal. The pages are soft and a lovely shade of ivory. The cover is patched together textiles and embroidered seams. There is a pocket in the front to tuck treasures and inspiration. If I could dream up a journal, this one would be the one. I have a beautiful fountain tip…
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…
My legs are really short. I am an endless font of reasons why I am not athletic, and above was my January 2021 entry. My legs are super short. I’m about five-six, and my torso must be the five because none of my height appears to be below my waist. I don’t run because it…
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…
If I were a dog walker, I would keep sprouted mung beans in my bag. Maybe some bits of cooked chicken too. And one of those collapsible water bowls, just in case people let us down. I would live in a big city. The city of my childhood so I’d know all the nooks and…
