Yearly Archives: 2015

Don't hide your shit. Or your magnificence.

I had to believe making a child involved some sort of combination of magic, voodoo and timing we hadn’t yet worked out the hidden formula to. The answer was there, all we needed to do was hang on as we’d been doing for the last two and a half years.

Self-love, I learned, cannot easily be forced. But it does grow if we let it.

I gave him twenty bucks and he said if he was to take it that I had to wear the "Be Love" sign for two full weeks.

You don’t know that I buried my grandmother yesterday. I want to tell you that grief is relentless.

To end my last conversation with Andrew, I said: I'm sorry that this happened to you. You are a sociopath. I don't think you can be helped. “Thank you for your condolences.” “Yes, you are correct.” “You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I am forty-four, married a decade, and in love with another man, a man I haven't seen since we traveled together in Italy 17 years ago.

We were losing the essence of our daughter. And it wasn’t to the epilepsy. No. It was to the drug that was supposed to help her.

“Jesus loves you.” There were a number of surprising elements to this interaction, beyond the fact that the room we now both occupied was the bathroom. For one, she might more reasonably have requested that I do a tap dance. My sister was dying of cancer.

Instead, may I suggest that it is your business to decide when you want to make advances to the penis and how close and in what order.

Hate is tiring. It's exhausting walking through the world hating anything, especially your own self.

It is not your fault. You did not turn him into an abuser. No one, I repeat, no one, turned him into an abuser. He chose it for himself.