I’m incredibly conscious of my nakedness underneath this robe. There’s something about being in a common space in a state of undress, even one filled with similarly half-dressed humans, that feels exposing. To describe myself as modest would be incredibly silly, but I’m also not apt to parade around with my lady bits out. I… Continue reading Spa Day.
Tag: family
The Farmer and His Wife.
I’m doing that thing I do, where I ease out of my own skin and observe. I watch, seemingly from afar, but usually, exceedingly close. I’m not judging, just observing, noting. I can still see his twenty-something year old face underneath the mask of later life that he wears. All things considered, his prolonged time… Continue reading The Farmer and His Wife.
We are all on trial, aren’t we?
The room is inky black and the only real sound I can hear is the whirring of my wall air conditioning unit. Well, that and the dehumidifier that feels essential for life these days. I turn my phone horizontally, hoping that this makes the image large enough to feel a greater sense of connectivity. The… Continue reading We are all on trial, aren’t we?
Holy Matrimonial Hell.
I can feel sweat beginning to form on satin that is jammed into my underarm. I’m pissed but this is inevitable. I’m a person who is prone to sweating and Bonnie had to pick motherfucking satin. To be fair, I’m not sure there’s a fabric that would escape my body temperature regulation, but this one… Continue reading Holy Matrimonial Hell.
Pockets of Space.
Perusing Instagram, my attention got stuck on a post about sisters. Specifically, sisters with radically different lives. One sister with a husband and children and one, single and fancy free. This didn’t feel like an accident, as yesterday I stumbled across a post about the grief of parenthood not coming to fruition. The idea that… Continue reading Pockets of Space.
Did you read about Kohen?
Did you read about Kohen Wiley? I ask. Who? Danny replies. Kohen Wiley, I say, more emphatically, as if that might change her answer. This is absurd, I recognize. I was in the neurologist’s office yesterday and a woman was there with her elderly mother, and she was doing exactly what I’m doing now. Her… Continue reading Did you read about Kohen?
Hot Mess Express.
My brain tracks the bead of sweat as it travels from the nape of my neck, down my spine, and finds a home in the lower region of my thin cotton tank. The dampness of my tank is almost indistinguishable from the veritable pool I’ve accumulated by the waist of my skirt. I press my… Continue reading Hot Mess Express.
EHC.
I keep wracking my brain trying to think of something clever to say. I stare at the cursor unforgivingly blinking at the top left corner of my screen and it’s making me increasingly anxious. There is something in me that wants to sound profound. Meaningful. Despair fills corners of my heart, and yet, overwhelmingly, I… Continue reading EHC.
A Day on Venus.
I’ve thought a lot about the way I navigate through the world. The way I often caveat or couch statements that I make. The way I offer apologies or concessions, to others, to myself, before it’s even necessary. The way I sidestep the thing I want to really say for fear of the reaction I… Continue reading A Day on Venus.
Happy Thanksgiving- or something like that.
This time of year, is pure nostalgia. Tidbits of memories that float on a crisp fall breeze, darting under raised coat collars and in between still ungloved fingers. Memories that twirl around my belly and tickle my lips and sit in my belly. So many Thanksgivings through so many different phases of life. The children’s… Continue reading Happy Thanksgiving- or something like that.
