I knew I was in trouble the first time we went to bed, and afterwards he sighed and said, “Well, I guess I have to go down on you now.”
“What?” I said, definitely not in the mood for sexy time anymore. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that kind of attention, but that’s a heck of a tone.” » Read more
PQ 25.3 — Who in my life is important for me to be able to talk to about my relationships? Whom do I think it’s important for my partners to meet?
“You know,” my mother says. “I really wish your brother would bring one of his girls home.”
“I guess he’s not at an emotional place where he wants to do that,” » Read more
Folks who are in emotional crumple zones are the ones others worry the least about upsetting or hurting. Not because they don’t have feelings. And not because they don’t get hurt easily.
Indeed, many folks in the crumple zone are actually quite sensitive — to their own emotions and to the ones of those around them. » Read more
Was there anything more disappointing as a kid than when you got to your hotel and the pool was closed?
It looked so lovely in the brochure.
I grew up being fed a lot of stories about Love and Romance and Happy Endings. Mostly through TV and movies, » Read more
“God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another.”
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet
On countless mornings, I glimpse my reflection in the mirror and want to punch myself in the face.
Because I look like her at certain angles.
Her chin, » Read more
There’s a big problem with holidays. In a word: Expectations.
It can be hard enough to make sure a random Thursday in August turns out okay. You get a flat tire. Horrible work shift. You get sick. Someone breaks into your home.
So if a lot of us designate an exact day — » Read more
Poly Question 1.2
Do I feel there can be only one “true” love or one “real” soulmate?
“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
-Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
At 8 years old, » Read more
“One pill a day,” Dr. Fodor said. “And your daughter will be fine.”
The social worker laid her hand on my mother’s arm. “See, Mrs. Turner, I told you. There’s plenty that can be done. She won’t be inpatient forever.”
“She’s starting to remember who she is,” Dad added. » Read more
Silence disturbs me. I grew up attached to the hip of a mother who chattered incessantly. Mostly to me, sometimes to herself, often into the phone. Dishing out the gossip while stirring a big pot of spaghetti sauce, thick links of sausage bobbing beneath the surface. When she was silent, she was sullen, moody, brooding – » Read more