It’s been almost two years since my marriage ended. Possibly longer since I wrote anything of value. Or wrote at all. I’m caught in a strange grieving process that doesn’t seem to have an end. The grief comes and goes. Some days are good days: I find myself busy and productive and life feels light. I feel healed, almost. Then the grief hits me out of nowhere. A smell, a place, a memory evoked and I’m back on the couch, split into pieces.
I don’t believe writing is a form of therapy. I’m a little obsessive about protecting my privacy: my innermost emotions…
From one of those websites dedicated to curating disparate bits of information, the question: why write? So instead of writing,…
There is no such thing as silence. The quiet buzzes with electrical pulses and insect wings and the inhalations and exhalations…
Moms are required to take on all sorts of roles for their children. We are protectors, feeders, dressers, washers, kisser-betterers,…
Yesterday, I posted two articles on Facebook. The first, entitled: Can You Tell the Difference Between A Men’s Magazine and…
Social media has created a weird, multidimensional world for nerds like me. Where once, you ended up kicking yourself upon…
Before I get into big trouble, thought I best explain myself. A few days ago, a fan of Gem Squash…
