put down the fork

  I had forgotten there are still people who hate me because I’m fat. I knew it for a fact most of life. From about 8 to 21, when I met Gus. I knew I was fat and that any time anyone wasn’t mean to me, especially boys, I should be grateful. Fat matters less when you’re…

Forks scattered across the floor

  I’ve been gone, neither reading you or writing me. I’ve been trying to do my for-pay articles like a grownup, which means writing even when I don’t want to or when the research is tedious. (It’s surprising hard to find a picture of an Ephedra bush that is not copyrighted). And, well, that’s going…

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…

Starting Pistol

  Last night, after drinking gallons of watered down apple juice and milk, LE pushed her small belly against the fabric of her nightgown. It rounded out and sloshed. “Mama,” she said, with true sadness, “I look fat.” It had the effect of a starting pistol, cleaving the uneasy anticipation and sending me on a…

Bag of DICKS

(originally published in April, 2013)   Spring Break can eat a bag of DICKS. Seriously. I…I had the worst damn week. I’m absolutely bereft over what this summer is going to be like.  My daughter. Oh my daughter. She is a good girl. Willing to please, loving, positive.  She is unbearable. I think it’s my…

Lonely and Dead on the Yorkshire Moors

  Utter. Crap. I mean it. Have you met this person in real life? If you climb their wall, what is your reward? Do you reap the bounty of them? Do they embrace you, give you back what you’ve put into them, what you need to feel loved? Your climbing, your effort, makes them feel wanted. And…

Haul in the Turnip

  Pee sticks. The only time, hopefully, taking a pee will change your life. Well, my pregnancies were just terrible. There was something squirming through the hormones of pregnancy that infested my brain chemistry with a deep mental sickness. The result was so horrible but so nebulous I can’t describe it so I rarely try. It’s the feeling you get when you’re alone in…

Pills and Booze Don’t Mix

Lex tells me not to mix pills and booze. Pick one and stick with it. She says that, from where she is tucked away in the leafy brown silence of her home. It used to be a mechanic’s garage, now it’s a cozy, glorious dump of a place, real wood paneling and bizarrely proportioned rooms. She doesn’t have children. She sits…