 I remember walking up the stairs to Robert’s apartment, determined to end the hateful stalemate that was immoveable, static, a mountain or a moon, and I walked up the stairs trembling and I would end it. I would end it if I died. . . . → Read More: Darkness Is a Cannibal  I start a load of laundry, take the boy to school, pour a cup of coffee, put the dogs out, answer email. I fold a load of laundry, make some phone calls, drink another cup of coffee, sit at my desk and write a few listless words that won’t go where I want them . . . → Read More: Behind My Eyes  For context, you might want to read this first. You know what sucks about being sad? Besides the sadness, I mean. It’s the all-consumingness of the thing. (Spell checker doesn’t care much for the word consumingness, to which I say get over yourself, spell checker! I have bigger problems than you!) No, what really . . . → Read More: Withouting  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.1 (except it’s less of a part and more of an interlude) We all grow up with rules. I’m not talking about the regular rules that our parents speak aloud – no running in the house; don’t sing at the dinner table; if you wear your tap . . . → Read More: The Transcendent Familiar 4: Give Yourself Away My eldest son, Jacob, played his first solo show last Friday. My husband and I took the rest of the kids to hear him and we had a nice time, or as nice a time as any 40-something adults can have in a large crowd of teenagers. There is deep joy in watching our . . . → Read More: Proud/Sad  |
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