six strings tie us back together a moment of frustration turned to trying something new my fumbling fingers his sorta mocking chuckle upon discovery I carry on then in curiosity he takes the guitar from me tries to remember the right chords I’m okay and I walk away he searches for me sits close and… Continue reading
I’ve started listening to heavy metal whilst doing the last round of dishes at night. It used to be my least favorite thing to do – so soul sucking. Now it’s something I look forward to because no one understand the angst of doing household chores like Rob Zombie.
The other night I was putting the kids to bed which is basically like wrestling wet cats into a paper bag. Finally I get everyone settled into their own beds and mostly get Pixie to knock it off with her current stream of privileged white girl problems when she pipes up that now she’s afraid… Continue reading The Kids Are All Right
Everyone preaches the importance of self-care. It allows you to continue providing the best possible love and care to those around you. But fuck that, man! How about self-kindness instead? Because I am worthy of taking care for the sake of myself. (This clarity comes from my beautifully wise and brilliant friend, Yael.) I remember… Continue reading Pour Some Sugar on Me
My thoughts are like puppies in a box. They escape from time to time and run wild. My job is to try to put them back in the box. I can’t squeeze them too tightly but with the right grip I can bring myself and my thoughts back to where they need to be. Puppies… Continue reading More Thinking About Thoughts
As with most things that I do to cope, this latest one started with a quirk of mine. I suppose it’s actually another coping mechanism that spawned another one. I went through a period where it was very hard to fall asleep because I’d start panicking and being bombarded by all sorts of intrusive thoughts.… Continue reading I’m the Author of This Story
Snuggling next to the Engineer on the bed, I hear the thundering of a child up the stairs. I quickly stick my head under his shirt and lay still. C comes in and starts his hourly diatribe. I don’t move or speak. He finishes and bounces off down the stairs. I resurface. The Engineer looks… Continue reading Pay No Attention to the Woman Under Your Shirt