So I’m writing a memoir, right… and I have like 10,000 words, which feels awesome, because it seems super far along. The thing is, the majority of those words are from two or three years ago, and, let’s just say I’ve grown and developed as a writer a lot since then.
They’re dreadful. Like, absolutely unreadable, and I’m not just being critical or modest or any other modifier you can think of. They are, quite simply, bad.
Ya know, cos we’re all diabetic and dying early and shit. In my office there are a few overweight women, and I told them that the veterinarian said my dog was fat and to put him on a diet. The temperature dropped twenty degrees instantaneously. I didn’t realize that word wasn’t okay to say, even if it wasn’t about a human or in a harsh tone.
I guess it’s similar to a racial slur, or a female endearingly referring to her close friends as “sluts.” I suppose it doesn’t help that I am quite thin. I’m not a part of the group who can say that word and have it be un-offensive. Thin women have no insecurities and should keep their thin lips shut, glide past and concentrate on not being blown away by a breeze.
If you know me or have been following this blog for any length of time, you know I don’t have close relationships with any of my family members. My kid brother and I are the closest, we all like him, in fact. He’s the main reason the rest of us see each other.
I got an alert on my phone that my stats were blowing up, which is remarkable given my MIA status for the past month. Three people love the shit out of this blog, they read 175 things. Either that, or they’re just really bored. It’s questionable.
I have weird feelings as of late. I have all this time since school’s out, but I feel tired all the time and just want to sleep/watch Friends on Netflix. [Which is actually kind of stressful for me, because Continue reading →
“We all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow path and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.” –Robert R. McCammon
My circumstances, inexplicably, have transformed into something fortunate and broad. I graduated community college last Saturday. That may not seem important–I know I didn’t think it was for a while–but my parents never attended college; and of five siblings, one attended some college, but I’m the only one to Continue reading →
little hannah the astronaut. she lives by the sea. she trains anemones and tortoises to collect glossy sea shells, the glossy ones are the best ones to use for rocket fuel. she grinds them up in a big red compactor, funnels it into her pint sized rocket. soon she’ll have enough to set a trajectory to mars, or a worm hole, or find out what happens in a black hole. soon she’ll have enough to see the earth as a pin head, the sun as a blazing bumble bee. sea shells are small and grumble up into even smaller dust, it takes a lot to turn into rocket fuel. she wonders if her shelled friends could make the process a little quicker by giving up their homes. they’re only slowing them down, she reasons, they’re only keeping her grounded longer.