Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

"You don't have to come in till 12:30." "Right, because it's Thursday." "What?" "On Tuesdays and Thursdays I work at 12:30. We made this schedule in September." "Really?" "Yeah, that's what Nora said." "She probably told me, and I forgot." "Uh, okay." "Sorry I forget so much; I wasn't exactly interested in keeping all my brain cells back in the day." My mouth formed a half-smile, and I had to force myself not to question, 'Back in the day?' as I remembered when Trey left his 'supplies' out, a stash big enough to make a frat boy blush.

"Throw out that t-shirt; it's holey. And ugly." "But I like it; I've had it a long time." "I'll get you another one, one that isn't falling apart." "That's not the point--" "The point is that shirt is raggedy, and you're not. I really hate that shirt." "It's just a t-shirt." "Then throw it out." "I don't want to." "Why? I really don't understand." "Can we drop it? I like it, big deal." "It is a big deal; that t-shirt is trash, so throw it out. It makes me uncomfortable." "You probably shouldn't let a shirt bug you so much." 

Everything is thought over. And over. And over. And over. And over.  That word I tripped over months ago. A laugh that was ill-timed. ND misunderstandings and silly insecurities. If I'm good enough.  Not enough. Too much. It's a shadow you want to rid yourself of but can't. It's waxy and haunting. Scares you. Too much. It's the big things, the little things.  Past traumas that keep their stabbing grasp. You're the best you've been, the strongest, the most confident, so why this...curse? Anxiety can't shut off like a tap; that ice hold remains. Breathe and let go. You've gotten better every day. Keep going. Shed the wrongs. 

"What a gift from Above, that fate brought you to each other, true love and true kindness, when you both needed it most. You are truly so lucky to have each other right now. There is only now...just be with each [other] in the present and be so glad to not be alone."   I am lucky indeed. Rich in beloved people. 

Brassica oleracea  Vegetable  Relatives to broccoli, collards, and kale  Cool-weather crop, Botrytis Group Heads and leaves and stems  Brassicaceae, The mustard family Annual plant, production by seeds  White curd, i nflorescence meristem  Flower buds  Cole crops  Cultivar groups 

Don't trust me with directions. It will not bode well. It will result in much gas being used and much time being added to the trip. Even my, "I'm positive this is right!" Is more often than not, left. Navigation isn't for me. 

It's that simple.  It's everything. It's a laugh, a coffee. It's tires, an old album. It's always.

For those of you keeping track (hah), that's one broken beer glass and TWO broken coffee carafes at work. Gotta love carpal tunnel and general clumsiness. Ugh. 

You deflated dink  And stupid yellow circle. Bested me for weeks, But now I've won.

I was fifteen and visiting New Orleans. We'd arrived on the last day of Mardi Gras. I'd grown up in the woods of Vermont, and now, I was in a confusing beer-scented green and gold kaleidoscope. A topless woman stood on a little cast iron balcony tossing out fistfuls of purple glitter. Every bar seemed to be in an unspoken competition to see whose jazz band could play the loudest. The air felt sticky due to the fact that so many people were so tightly packed into Bourbon Street. I didn't know where to look or not look, but I was surprised when my sister forcefully swatted the necklace I'd caught out of my hands. 

"Hey, Butch," Josh sniveled.  I flipped him off and kept jogging. Andrew took a less subtle approach and punched him.  "That's my pitching arm!"Josh screeched.  "And Bianca is our teammate," Andrew retorted, "So stop being an ass!" he yelled over his shoulder.  Andrew started running faster, and I had to sprint to keep up with him. We ran around the baseball park twice before collapsing on the big tree stump to catch our breath.  "Sorry about Josh. He's threatened that the new girl in school made the team and is a pitcher too." I shrugged, "Let him be threatened."  

Meant with good-natured fun poking and genuine confusion.  If it's good enough for poets and RRHOF artists, with multiple Grammys and incredible accolades, shouldn't it be good enough for me? I like what I like, fine, I'm good with that and not interested in pretending, but what in gods name am I not hearing? There has to be a joke I don't get, right? I've yet to find anyone who agrees with me. I'm used to being the only one regarding many things, but I find this so baffling.  I don't understand; I'm feeling dumb  Buy the candy, chew the gum  None of these meanings are clear  I'm your priestess  You're my buccaneer  Rock the boat? Couldn't rock a pogo stick  Jumping  and squeaking on pavement and brick Grabbed my jacket and a beer I'm your priestess  You're my buccaneer  What am I missing  Lyrics quite pedestrian, so, Doomed to be confused, I fear I'm your priestess  You're my buccaneer  Billy laughed and did me dirty Bruce an

Winter Dance Party  24 cities in 24 days  Frostbitten buses  Colds and coin tosses  Day 11  Unscheduled stop Clear Lake, Iowa  Dwyer Flying Service Beechcraft Bonanza  Three artists aboard  Five Minutes We should be the ones  Flying ahead  The tour from hell

How can one pair of eyes be so many lovely colors? Hazel, ocean blue, deep aqua, mossy green. The colors vary depending on lighting and mood, and sometimes a shirt, but the beautiful amber flecks remain constant. Three in one eye and four in the other, seven beautiful spots, like little stars. I can get lost in those incredible eyes, but it's never lost on me that I get to gaze into them and love.