Category Archives: Autobiographical

Social Anxiety

I cracked a fortune cookie, pulled out the little strip of paper, popped a piece of cookie in my mouth, and while I munched on it, read my fortune. (They don’t seem to have fortunes anymore, really. Just an adage, … Continue reading

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Writer’s Block

She said, “I’ve heard people say they have writer’s block. I don’t know what that is. I don’t have any trouble writing. I don’t even believe in writer’s block. There’s no such a thing.” That was twenty-nine years ago. I … Continue reading

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Women Writers

I’m reading Eileen Myles. I didn’t know who she was, until I read an article about a “punk poet.” Two words I’m drawn to–“Punk” and “Poet.” Two words I love. Later, I come across her own words: “Can I just … Continue reading

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Magic of the Moon

I got up yesterday morning at 5:15.  I wanted to see the super blue blood moon. I got up later than I had wanted to. Effing insomnia made me lose sleep again, and I was unable to rise at 4:45 … Continue reading

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Reading, Writing, Wondering

I had always said I would never read on a device. I had always said I would never have a cell phone. Well, you know what they say about “never.” As for “always,” it really can’t be projected into the … Continue reading

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I Begin with the Blues

I begin the New Year with the blues.  (I don’t mean the music, I mean depressed. Just to be clear). But that’s all right. I know I got a brighter day up ahead. I’m working toward it. The end of … Continue reading

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“I’m Alive!”

A week ago today, I had brain surgery. But it’s my leg that hurts. It was an intravenous procedure. They reached my brain via my groin. At the fold between my upper leg and my torso, I was pierced and, … Continue reading

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