Here I Am Blog Again

Here I Am Blog Again

The first thing I posted to my website (the one with the domain name that sounded like a McDonald's menu item) was a five thousand (one thousand) word story about making blackberry jam that didn’t turn out. The jam or the story. My initial plot was to begin writing publicly by throwing everything I could think of at all sides of an Internet I was just discovering. For some reason this included posting recipes and crafts. It was more than a year before I realized roasted brussel sprouts in a gorgonzola cream sauce and nursery mobiles made of wrapping paper scraps from baby shower gifts are not literary devices.

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The Voice of PMS

The Voice of PMS

 

"Good Morning! Everything sucks. Especially you. You suck."

“No, don’t shower today. It’s too much effort and it won’t noticeably lessen the hardcore self-loathing we’ve got going on here."

“I hate your clothes. You look like a bag lady. You know you don't need a bra for those, right?"


“Hey! You should cut your own bangs. Yea, like that, that looks pretty good. Just a few more snips so they’re too short and you’re crying. There. That’s it.”

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Hell is the Mall

Hell is the Mall

My husband sent me to the mall this weekend. The jerk. One kid needed new shoes, our only set of sheets had a hole in them and they have better quality bath towels than ours, in prison. 

I have no interest in leaving my house to go looking for things. I prefer they materialize when I require them. I think that's the whole purpose of the internet: to keep people like me out of public....

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Small Talk with A Bear

Small Talk with A Bear

I had a recurring childhood nightmare that was set in my actual home, which made it oh-so-much worse. In the dream, I stepped out onto the front porch to collect the evening newspaper and to the right, beyond the house, was a behemoth grizzly bear, barreling toward me through the filbert orchard. At first, he was a hundred feet away, which allowed me plenty of time to take the few steps back inside and bolt the door, even while dragging my suddenly sandbag body in heavy slow-motion. But each time the dream repeated, the bear started closer to me, and my escape grew narrower until the night he was waiting for me on the other side of the door. 

One of my most terrifying, recurring adulthood nightmares is also set in my actual home, and happens when I'm awake...

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Family Go-Away

Family Go-Away

At first the quiet sounded as though the little-girls-giggles, shrieks, and tattles that normally fill the house might cut through the still air at any moment. I sat listening expectantly. It took half of the first day to settle into the silence. Once I accepted it, I couldn’t get enough.  I remarked aloud to nobody how gorgeously quiet it was, standing in the middle of the living room feet slightly apart, knees bent, shoulders slumped with my arms at my sides, hands turned upright like I was holding something heavy, my eyes rolled back, my head tilted towards the ceiling, mouth agape, as though  I was being knocked over by how much I couldn't believe how awesome it was. “It’s sooooooo quiiiiiehhhhhht,” I said in slow motion. 

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Under Construction

Under Construction

In late 2009,  after being married two months and spouting off about how we were going to wait to have children, I got pregnant.

My firm was facing cutbacks and I volunteered to be laid off so I could revel in the miracle of life’s beginnings, absorb the peaceful last days of un-motherhood, and act as the general contractor for our basement remodel.

I finalized designs, hired subcontractors, secured permits, scheduled construction and shopped for materials.

I got to use a clipboard.

At first, I was as a conductor. On a perfectly orchestrated afternoon, the electrician would pull up as the plumber was leaving, and the driveway would clear out in time for the lumber delivery.

At second, I ran into an enormous energy deficiency.  Thankfully, once the construction was set in motion I was able to rest in the company of strange men blasting pneumatic nail guns.

The incubating baby must have interfered with my brain’s ability to pick up common sense signals.  I hadn’t entertained the possibility of a glitch in either my pregnancy OR home renovation. Any bozo in their right mind knows that neither of those two things ever go as planned. This pregnant bozo did not.

A few months in, my crotch gave out.

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