I did a scary thing. I auditioned for a show in which you read the words you wrote. Like, in front of people. On a stage. And before you can do that you read it in front of the showrunners who decide if your piece fits. And when you go to do this you sit outside the audition room with your printed copies and you make small talk with the other people auditioning and you have to tell them that this is your second time trying to do it which makes you feel like a loser even though you told yourself all the right (and true) things about how rejection…
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When Your Children Say, “We Got You”
Every once in a while I get to catch a glimpse of what we're building here with these kiddos. And it's gorgeous.
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But first, this.
I am at the YMCA and I am using the child watch shamelessly because we pay for it and even though I have no intention of exercising today (ha! it’s sweet that you thought that, though) I am going to use my two hours for something good. I have lots of deep thoughts to write about, lots of drafts I could go back to, lots of things I want to chew on, words as teeth, keystrokes like jaw bones, but first this. First, I’m going to soak up this moment alone in an uncomfortable chair by the window drinking coffee I didn’t make next to a perfectly unassuming purse which…
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Grapes of Fury
He gets it from me. Maybe I gave it to him on accident, through the genetic concoction which gave him those gorgeous brown eyes and that caramel skin. Or maybe he saw me do it when I’ve failed the resistance against my tendencies. When I’m hurting deep I get angry and look for something (or someone) to blame. I look for a place to land my blows. I’ve got 27 years on him and I still throw tantrums. That night he took issue with my placement of grapes on his plate. It was during another dinner far from his table, far from his dad and his dog and the place he calls “home” from the…
