'Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do-the actual act of writing-turns out to be the best part. It's like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony... My writing is like a person to me-the person ( Read more... )

The last time I fell in love I stopped writing. This time I've started again ( Read more... )

The click-ticking of my new watch is prominent ( Read more... )

The difference between the manic episode of someone with bipolar disorder and the 'high' often equated with that of someone diagnosed with a borderline personality, finally explained to me fairly recently, is that the manic episode lasts in much shorter bursts, whereas the borderline rapture will continue bursting on into days, weeks, perhaps ( Read more... )

I coerced myself into waking before noon, dressed and drug myself to the store for dry shampoo as my shower is still out of order; I believe we're on month five (I'm being kind, really, as it is likely six or seven) of Mike insisting he's having a plumber out to repair it soon; I'm exhausted in a semi-spoiled sort of way of having to bathe in the ( Read more... )

It's entirely too quiet, all the planes at rest, all the drunks at play beyond the gates of the airport. Only the tinkling of water and muffled grating of the motor from the fish tank, where no fish live, sounds ( Read more... )

Let's not talk about how long it has been ( Read more... )

Blue Bell Creameries. We wore paper ice cream hats. He held my hand on the way home and it felt like him again. I told him I had found love notes he had written me last year, how he had said our souls were now connected, could never part. Proof that he did love me so intensely, once. I miss the way he kissed me then, as if he was afraid it would ( Read more... )

Barely made it in time for lunch with Mom at El Tiempo Cantina. The spiral staircase led my eyes up, up across hand- crafted lit stars hung from the ceilings, their glow reflecting against painted family portraits. Over-sized, yellowed black and whites of cowboys and Spanish brides, their round faces, long lashes emphasizing eyes so deep I wanted ( Read more... )

The few dinners we share alone are choked in silence or end abruptly, cascading into the same fight we've been having since January. I have more to lose in this than you. My whole life, where I live, where I work... He won't understand. He won't come back.

I slept through noon, hot and sticky under layers of covers. I forgot lunch with Mom.