There are no wedding pictures of Simon and I in our house. This particular fact bothers our daughter. But, for me, it’s just part and parcel of how much Simon and I have changed since 2006. He had a different name then and presented in the world in a way that never quite sat right... Continue Reading →
Memory is tricky. Porous. It shifts and rearranges, until you’re left holding something delicate and fragile, that you hope or believe is true. Or is a version of the truth, at the very least. Back to us: I am 27; she is 41. I never stop to wonder if I am in love. I still... Continue Reading →
When I was 27, I fell for a woman who was 41. I fell hard. And fast. It was exhilarating. I fall easily. It’s a known quantity. But this moment in time caught me finally climbing out of a yearlong depression. The darkest I’d ever experienced. Things were starting to look brighter, though, by which... Continue Reading →
I broke up with my therapist a little while back. Nice woman. Jaunty British accent. Gay. (She got good marks on all these fronts.) But, we ran up against a topic that she just wasn’t able to hear me on. I like to tell people that I broke up with her because she told me... Continue Reading →
It’s come to my attention that maybe I’m a little bit of a prude. Okay, okay… that’s too harsh. But I have discovered that maybe I’m not as sex-positive as I thought I was. Sure, I can say a lot of the right things about sex. And sex as an abstract concept is a-okay. But... Continue Reading →
I just wrote the shittiest first draft of the story (much of) my life is built around. How can something so near be so hard to pin down in words? But when the cursor blinked at me, a little mockingly, if I’m honest, I just kept pressing on, focusing on the tippity-tap of the keyboard... Continue Reading →
Our first Valentine's Day together, Simon got me a flashlight. Oh, he got me some red roses, too. But the flashlight was the main present. He wanted me to be prepared, just in case. This is his way, laying a path and making way for my independence, nurturing my strength. But I didn't know that... Continue Reading →
So I told her to make her own damn sandwich. (Note: I did not actually say damn out loud. But I said it real, real loud in my head. I think she could probably hear it) She huffed and puffed while she made her sandwich. I took my coffee and my English muffin to the other side of the kitchen, where her huffing was muted by the snorting of the dog.
A gritty, honest exploration of change, loss, and joy as it's unfolded in my life.
Sometimes grief feels more like empty space. A vague longing for what used to be. It’s a nagging sort of sadness, one that I keep trying to reason away. But reason and grief have never been particularly compatible. So it goes. My grandmother used to get up before the morning light got strong and bright... Continue Reading →
