My mother is in the kitchen prepping the feast for tomorrow. My grandmother’s recipe box is out, the house smells like bread and Rear Window is playing in the background, as she dances around the animals swarming at her feet. I love the holidays.
Conversation happens in sips.
Red wine gives me wings.
You don’t have to make everything a chore. Just blast some music, sweep on a smile and start that spring cleaning dance off right!
The world as I know it has collapsed. I’m clinging to remnants of a silly hope for what once was.
I’ve been betrayed by many people and things, but never my own sanctuary.
Yes, I will grow. Yes, I will become stronger because of this.
But right now, I’m completely and totally scared shitless.
Here are my flaws. Take them as you will.
All I have to say is…this is me at my worst. But stick with me and you will soon be rewarded by my best.
As a writer, philosopher, and all around anxiety-ridden thinker–I’ve come to the realization I may never be as passionate with a person as I am with my thoughts and words.
I may be cursed to whirlwind romances and melodramatic flings.
How can I give you my heart when it’s bleeding out onto the page?
Cigarettes and wine, cheers.
In order for me to speak freely about sex and human sexuality, people like to call me a feminist.
Does a woman have to be a feminist to talk about sex?
Does that make the discussion more comfortable for you?
If so, then I never want to be a feminist.
For those of you who don’t understand
The frugalness that comes in hand
When pen sits pretty on pursed fingertips
…ready and waiting to throw the first kiss–It’s a silent romance
Between author and instrument;
A timeless plague
Haunting the marginal
Remnants of the page.-A.H. Rich
We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone as beautiful, intelligent, and witty as we are ugly, stupid, and dull. But what if such a perfect being should one day turn around and decide they will love us back? We can only be somewhat shocked-how can they be as wonderful as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us?
― Alain de Botton, On Love
Sit across the table from your maladies and let them down gently.
DoWriteWell 