Category: Uncategorized
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Summer Love
Alone and quarantined with Corona, my space is empty, but for the trappings of last year’s memories, and accumulated delivery packaging. In my effort to connect, or find love or something, we match on Tinder. I send daily selfies of bedridden me and affiliated updates, like how I painted my nails blue. In turn, he…
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Emancipation
I’ve always loved the idea of being able to start over. This fascination perpetuated my love for travel, moving place to place, the possibility that I could reinvent, transform, start over, let go of any pain, memories, negativity that held me back. Of course, I learned over time that moving doesn’t equate with being someone…
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Motherhood Can’t Fix You
Mothers are archetypes in lore and mythology for good reason. It’s not just the power to give birth that sets them on an imagined pedestal; it’s the array of supporting qualities—edgeless compassion, unwavering kindness, the glorified selflessness. The role of mother was both captivating and terrifying, because it simply wasn’t me. What metamorphosis would I…
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Bad Influence
Ted wore square hipster glasses and slicked back his thinning hair. We met when I was 23 and he was 30, which seemed really, really old, like Dad old. It’s probably why I trusted him more than I should have. The night we met he drunk drove me home from a dive bar, pulled over…
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Fly-Over States
In January of 2002, while George Bush II was alleging Iraq’s stockpiling weapons of mass destruction and drumming up reasons to spearhead a war, I was living in Boston with five guys who were at various stages of obtaining adanced degrees from Harvard. Every morning, I ate breakfast with my housemates: a French physicist, a German professor,…
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Muse
In love, despite any efforts to stray—my “type” has always remained—the artist. As artist-lovers know, the path can be colorfully romantic, but, often unrewarding. Male artists are sensitive, but selfish, they are passionate, but mercurial, they are full of hope, but also self-doubt. For the women in their lives, it is a constant battle between…
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A Mirror
*Artwork by the very talented Noel Young Very rarely are we given the opportunity to see ourselves through another pair of eyes. A birds-eye view of our own life. A first impression. A last impression. I received word of this piece and wanted to share. I met this writer in Vietnam. Then he wrote about me. **** Saigon.…
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Fixtures
For two years, there was a homeless woman living in the alley next door to my first floor duplex. She had erected a massive fort out of plywood, tarps and shrap metal; an intricate, multiple-tiered fort with a ladder, a closet, and a bed made of blankets and garbage. The police never made her dissemble…
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The End
It could be timing, or love or age or all three. In the end, we strive for a moment we can sit down and say, “I am happy. I have what I need, to stay put, dare I say… settle.” A friend recently sent me this quote: “With the adventurous lives that we live, the…
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Relapse
My landlord went crazy sometime at the end of June. To tell the background of my summer homelessness would mean attempting to articulate the irrationality of human behavior. Does that sound vague? It was meant to be; partly to spare the landlord in question, and partly to spare myself the wrath of publicly declaring one…
WAYWARD BETTY 