I look at pictures of my grandparents. They were all alive when I was born. They died when I was five, sense, ten, and sixteen. My grandfathers proceeded my grandmothers. I have a few hazy memories of the men. A little more of my material grandmother. I truly remember my paternal grandmother. I don't miss … Continue reading Ashes to Ashes..
How the fuck did we get here? Yesterday tears of joy. Fear of new life. Such responsibility. So easy. Time marches. First time for everything. First first times. Newness every day. Personality unfolding. All my fault? My brittle, stupid genes? If not, then who, why, where, how... The only question that matters is when. The … Continue reading Not Yet. Not Ever.
* Below is transcribed from voice notes I recorded on the stroke of midnight New Year's 2018/2019. As such my grammar, spelling, and punctuation is even worse than usual. It's a series of disjointed thoughts. As such, "Reader Beware" It is just after midnight. It is January 1, 2019. I am lying in my bed. … Continue reading Happy New Year
I remember. Do you? I don't remember every little detail. How about you? Did it really happen? It seems like it was so long ago. It seems like it happened yesterday. Was it real? Did that really happen? Do I have a right to these feelings when no one I know was hurt? Died. Scarred. … Continue reading In Memorium 2,996
Dear Home, I'm sorry I left you, and with you my parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews. My friends. My safety. My me. You were there for me for twenty five years, and I jumped on a plane without thinking for a moment what losing you might mean. I had always been so proud to be … Continue reading Missing You
Look at me. I am the face of poverty. It's laughable really. How dare I call myself poor. I own my own house. My husband and I made my last payment on my minivan this month. I have excellent healthcare for my many ailments. My kids have beds, with clean sheets (mostly), I their own … Continue reading Poor Me
I'm nervous and excited. I want to get this job. I am so scared to work again. It's been two years. I remember when I was twenty nine, I went back to work after eighteen months. Eighteen months earlier I had been working six days per week, Often with a couple of doubles thrown in … Continue reading It’s Off To Work I Go…