-
disposable
Dear Eljay,
For once a post that's not about him.
So desperate am I to put that behind me.
I've been struggling, Eljay. I've been alone before and for long stretches, but this is different. When you're young and hit the skids, at least you can know that your book isn't written yet. Life still holds lots of possibility and doors remain open. ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Kevin has a habit of leaving one device or another in the bedroom while he sleeps all night on the sofa because he stayed up late watching tv. Then some pre-dawn alarm he hasn't given any thought to rouses me with the fury of a feral animal. Hitting any button may result in only snoozing it so this morning I had to get up in the dark and move his ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Every morning of my adult life for as far back as I can remember, I've awoken full of guilt, dread and regret if I've been drinking the night before. Usually there was never anything to feel guilty about. Sometimes I cringed over embarrassing things I'd said or done; I used to commonly insert my foot into my mouth, but the gloom that hung over my ( Read more... ) -
with wet lashes
I can tell I'm losing my grip because I find myself wondering, "what would a normal person do? How would a normal person react?" I'm so undone, behaving appropriately requires concentration. -
A fresh twist of the knife.
Lamplighter has a barista more charming than average. This morning I went in with my heart breaking anew over my nineteenth attempt to extinguish our flame when the lovely barista asked me, "Were you in here on a date the other day?" She'd seen us at the table by the door. I didn't know how to answer, as always when someone suggests we're together ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Dear Eljay,
I've noticed recently that sometimes I reach with my left and it doesn't hurt. -
(Untitled)
It's weird how these things unfold. Friday was full of relief and elation after learning that Dad was going to survive and not only that but also be un-brain-damaged too ( Read more... ) -
That which doesn't kill you... is simply killing you very slowly.
I don't know what I'm living for. I really don't. There's just no incentive in it. The last five years are all broken bones, infertility, getting laid off, having the jeep towed, incarcerated juveniles, psychotic breakdowns, failed initiative, scraping by, lethargy, food spilled on clothes... True joy is a thing of the past. I can scarcely remember ( Read more... ) -
Resistance is futile.
With each sneeze my cranium grew thicker and I rolled my head around the desk until I could no longer bear the florescent lighting and trudged out into the unseasonably warm sun. Sitting on a bench in a speck of a park I took off my sweater and transfixed on a majestically hued tree shimmering in the breeze, showering the sidewalk in its vibrant ( Read more... ) -
An observation.
Infertility has both damaged and developed my friendships. When my closest girlfriends became moms, implementing 10PM bedtimes and all else the change of lifestyle entails, those formerly effortless relationships began to require just a bit of concentration. And the deepening friendships are those with my dearest who drink too much since learning ( Read more... )