Ripped Out of the Cocoon

  Everything is changing. My house and yard are clean, so I feel happier every day. They are clean because I can pay someone to make them that way. I can pay someone because my writing is selling, as soon as I can type it. And the more my writing sells the more opportunities come…

Blue Gatorade and Goodbye

I wrote this once before, a long time ago. I took it down. I’m ready to rewrite it now. It’s long, but it has to be. Settle in. When I ask my seven year old how much she remembers about grandma, who died when she was four, she always tries to please me with memories.…

Tranquil

This is my third day. I haven’t gone more than three days without one in two years. Through most of my 20s, they were an eject button I kept in my purse. If ever the hole in the floor started to open, if ever that nameless terror started to distort me, I could take one,…

Ghosts of the Fourth Floor

I put my son into one of those hospital cribs that have always made me shutter, a metal cage; the perfect place to suffer in. But I didn’t shutter. I laid him next to a horrendous giggling bear-robot of some sort, without the least hint of melancholy. I laid down in the pull out chair next…

Phantom limb

  *Originally written for Mother’s Day, 2013 My mom tended to make things up. Not lie. Fill in gaps. Pad. Fabricate.People said more passionate, endearing things in her memory. I was near enough to hear her meet a boy she used to help as a school-aid 20 years ago. She was tired, they only talked…

Too pretty to be normal

Many women and girls have the ability to look fantastic. To really lay it on, dress to the nines. They turn heads at the Italian restaurant, they get flirted with at the wedding reception. Even I could do it every now and then. But that’s not the same as being “professional grade” pretty. Like models and…