Insomnia and

Cramps and cooled tea. Frowny face

It’s 2:10 AM


Lids won’t blink, eyes dry

Please, magic music find sleep

Oh no, commercial


Feel every single

Tick tick feel it in the jaw

Oh good, music’s back


Uterus upset,

Pitching a fit, running red,

Sorry, no baby


Head, chest, belly, knees

Pounding synchronization.

Oh, feet too, of course.


Mildly funny cat

Try not to laugh too loudly

Praise internet cats


Split infinitives

Do I lose my English degree now?

Wonderful haiku


Counting my fingers

Mouthing the words that’s seven

I’m so good at this.


“Today is Yesterday’s Tomorrow”

“What day doesn’t end in d-a-y?”

“What period of time has no beginning and no end?”




Yesterday provides regrets. Today lives now. But

Tomorrow, tomorrow never was, never is, and

The truth is, the truth about Tomorrow is that it may never be

more than a riddle;

A question, unanswered.

Per our instructions-not-includedusual routine, earlier this week, Joe and I sat down to dinner in front of the PS4 to watch something while we ate. This time, Joe picked a movie on our Netflix queue while I was not looking.

He chose Instructions Not Included, a two-hour subtitled movie about a Mexican womanizer who becomes a father rather suddenly. For about the first half of the movie I hated him. He was a shameless man-whore with a seriously ugly wig and poor hygiene. Then, as he started to accept his fate as a single father (and as a stuntman), I started to like him more. He seemed to be charmingly wrapped around his daughter’s little finger, and unable to keep himself from spoiling her rotten.

Then, the abandoning mother returns, and demands to be in her daughter’s life. Soon she demands more – to bring the girl back with her to NYC. When that doesn’t work, she reveals that he isn’t actually the father. Now there’s somebody else I hate more than the earlier womanizer.

But, hate for the “mother” is nothing compared to the hate I have for the screenwriter. SPOILER ALERT: Because the person who wrote this lovely story about a womanizer who moves to a better place, works at a dangerous job, and cares only for his little girl, is a horrible person for killing that little girl in the end. That’s right, all the implications that the father is sick, are just misdirection. In fact, when you review the foreshadowing that made the father’s imminent death so obvious, you see that, really, it was the girl’s death they were foreshadowing.

I cried. How could I not? A sweet, loving, and carefree little girl who finally meets her mom and jumps off the cliff in Acapulco, dies in her former womanizer, non-biological, loving, single father’s arms. She was his whole world for 7 years, and she just dies in her sleep, in his arms.

Dear Gramma,

Thank you. Thank you for the hugs and cookies. Thank you for the unconditional love. Thank you for sticking it out almost 2 years without Grampa; it must have been one of the most difficult and heart-wrenching things you ever did. Thank you for the face we seem to share. Thank you for showing me how wonderful and loving and open a grandmother could be.

Every time I drive our car (it doesn’t seem right to claim wholly as mine – your hard-earned and -kept money bought it, mine just maintains it.) I think of you. When I do, I smile, sometimes it’s watery, but always genuine and full of love. All my memories of you are good and bright and happy.

To me, you’ll always be Christmas afternoon with the whole family gathered in your living room tearing wrapping paper and opening bags and boxes, laughing and joking with one another. You’re always smiling, and your chuckle is ready just below the surface.

I miss you.


Little Esther


There is a ridiculous amount of job search engines online. Yet, despite the dozen or so I’ve been on everyday since the second half of May, it was the through a newspaper I’d never read that I found a position at a really cool company for a job I think I would be good at, and could love very quickly. I’m so excited that they were the ones to get back to me with an interview offer. My fingers are crossed for another email for a another interview with them. My head might explode if they’d skip the second interview and offered me the job. I’d pull a move from Fringe to get my head back together, then I’d pack up my car and be there before I remembered my keys.

I think my first full-time job interview, ever, went well. That said, I don’t really know what they thought. I bet they thought I’m a slow individual, because I made a mess on the first test they gave me, took longer than half an hour to write a half-page book blurb, and hesitated before answering some of the oral interview questions. I also blanked on all of questions I had in my head when they asked me if I had any to ask. And I had a ton, but I was so nervous they all went into hiding. Still, I think I’m a good fit for them. I have experience editing creative writing; talking to, and helping, authors and publishing-hopefuls; website design; even some journalism. And I’m a MS Word pro!

I wanted to ask everybody I talked to if they liked me. God, I hope they liked me! I think I already love the company. I know I love what they do: help authors get published in the correct places, and they even build\maintain websites for their clients! How fantastic is that?! I want to be a part of that! With a little training, and some patience, I could. With pleasure!


PS: I’m so serious about wanting this that I’m not telling any more people about it until it gets resolved. I don’t want to jinx myself, so this post, like the others before it, will remain private.