I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving
I Write To Understand. I Write To Stop Time
When we were growing up, our first crush was so important. And now, just thinking about him makes me want to laugh, but in an affectionate way.
I went to a small Lutheran school affiliated with five churches in St. Louis, and the school had a pretty rigid caste system that felt as strong as India’s caste system. And I was a dalit. If people even talked to me, they were tainted by association.
I didn’t have anyone close to me who passed away as a child, and I think the first time I became painfully aware of life’s fragility was coming out of a coma.
When I was in college, I went to Europe to see a friend studying in Bochum, Germany. We landed in Dusseldorf and took the train to Bochum. And around Bochum. Then to Amsterdam. Then to Munich. Then to Vienna where took a train to Beethoven’s house. Then we took a train (a very long and boring train) back to Bochum, and we took a train to Paris. The Metro in Paris was dirty and crowded, but we took it, and went back to Bochum and back to Dusseldorf.
Dear ***,
Over the years in social work training and practice, I have become a pretty good communicator, except when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because our time together has been so emotional and dramatic, for lack of a better word. We’ve been through shit together.
Continue reading “This Letter Will Never Be Sent, Though It Will Be Published”
Of all the things a Stallone flick can offer an audience, profound depth is not often among them. Yet a hidden gem about relationships in the first Rocky film makes it an exception. (One that proves the rule? You decide.)
“What, just explore this apartment? The people who live here won’t mind?”
“Oh, they don’t know. I just need to describe what I see. Alright, sure.”
Holy shit, don’t these people clean? I would hate to live in a place like this. Ohh, but that sign is funny. “Hippies use the backdoor.” Let me pick around all these shoes – oh, I guess I should take my own off.
Okay. Let’s get through this quickly.
Damn! Look at those bookshelves! Oh, but first – ooh, a bar! Should I have some whisky or rum? Nice.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Futures Past.”
Last night, my dearest Cohiba told me that I helped him make his dream come true. Moving out here with him, doing a job he loves and being in a place he feels challenged and supported has been a dream that has so far not been realized. It made me feel pretty special, honestly, and happy to know he feels so loved.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Kindness of Strangers.”
I have found, more times than I can count, that strangers are unfailingly kind. When I was lost in Paris one night getting off the metro, the old woman who walked me to my hostel was kind. When I was on the phone with my insurance company and the Wee One was screaming in the background, the receptionist was so kind. When I drop things now and she’s in my arms, people are so helpful in retrieving my items and getting settled more securely.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Golden Hour.”
I’m trying to work out a schedule for our transitioning household. Wee One is four months now and I’ve heard that everything will be easier for her if we have a schedule. I’ve tried to come up with one but I hate schedules! I hate being trapped or confined. I think schedules are lame.
But they really are good for people, especially small ones. Especially when we’re moving and so much is changing. I’m also finding they’re good for new moms and their heightened anxiety. So I’m trying to do this schedule.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma.”
This daily prompt tasks us to write about something most people don’t know about me. As I sat down to start it, I thought: this is kind of arrogant, just writing about myself. But what is blogging, really?
I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving 