seven months

The date took me by surprise today. I was scribbling down my schedule--I travel so much these days, it’s hard to keep the days straight--when I realized I’d forgotten what the day was. Grief is funny like that. It’s taken seven months, but here I am, finally at the point where it’s no longer piercing... Continue Reading →

six months

There was a story you wrote, years ago. You were stuck, couldn't figure out what to write. Fits and starts of little things, but nothing that felt right until you struck upon what would become Under-London. I can't find it, now, because you took everything down in preparation for publication, but it started with a... Continue Reading →

how I am

"How are you?" This is a dangerous question, today. On the way to work, my knuckles, already OCD-torn, cracked and bleeding, are white with strain. I pinch my nose. I do all the things I know to keep my mascara on my eyelashes, not all over my face. It isn't easy, because today marks exactly... Continue Reading →

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