Seventeen weeks post hysterectomy, sixty days sober. Lots of crazy shit has been running through my mind. I feel like I’m trying to cross a busy one-way street in Boston, at night, only I can’t find a break in the traffic pattern.
Till death do us part…Ayup. Marriage is indeed a death sentence. It’s time spent doing all you can to restrain yourself from choking your spouse. I kid, but really… We celebrated eight years this past Tuesday. Even though I joke about murdering him, I still have dreams of losing him to random things like time, space, death, or someone prettier,… Read More
I have faith that this too shall pass…eventually. And when it does people will remember the kindness, the long-distance smiles, and the clean hand waves.
I know. It’s Valentines Day weekend. The sex should be amazing, that is if you’re having any, but what if you’re not? What if you see something that triggers some awful memories?
Being back in New Hampshire has been a mixed bag emotionally. I love the mountains, lakes, the small—but very significant—11 miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline, the fattening comfort food (we won’t talk about the weight I’ve gained being back in my home state), and goddamn do I love all the friggin’ trees—Autumn foliage or not. What I don’t like are… Read More
You are always welcome to live out your heavy doubts and fleeting guilty pleasures in my dreams, anytime.