I never have loved to run. But for whatever reason, every Spring, I try to convince myself that I do. That’s how I ended up here. Staring from the top of these old concrete stairs, completely out of breath—not only because I’m overweight and out of shape—but because of the staggering flood of memories that have just come rushing back in. Continue reading “Sinners, Honkys and Misfits.”
The first time I saw The Help, I fell in love with Minny. She was a Truth Telling Nightmare, who fought back, regardless of the risks; and shined a light so bright, that the Doers of Darkness, had nowhere left to hide. And while tale after tale of bravery and heroism had me cheering the whole way through, nothing compared to Bad Ass Minny, taking a dump in a Narcissist’s pie. Continue reading “It’s More Than Just the Poopy Revenge.”
So here we are again.
You: still waiting patiently.
Me: cursing and crying and digging a hole in the wall in front of my desk with an anxious big toe, as I Write. Erase. Repeat. And then press my fingers into my eyeballs as far as I can without causing permanent blindness, and think “Who even does this?”
Like really. What kind of person feels the burning need to vomit words into space where anyone.
Or no one.
But mostly anyone.
Can read them?
For the last month. Every time I’ve tried to write this post, that’s the only thing that comes out. Continue reading “Dear WordPress. You’re the only one who truly understands me.”