Tuesday, October 27, 2009


The first day of snow
came prematurely.
Not like frosting, dusting the tips of your eyelashes for sweet flirty blinking and thawing inside by the soft glow of warm, holiday love.
Not like chestnuts roasting on an open fire, the frightful weather Michael and Frank croon sweetly about, or lightly fleckling the front driveway the day after Christmas so you can't drudge to any store for sales or exchanges
but instead have to spend the whole day with cocoa and cider and board games and baking and late-coming cards.
it came today, sleeting and cold and it changed colors on the way down,

white—> gray—>  brown—> until it was just the color i know as wet.
two days before Halloween.
It came bearing no gifts, no sweet escape or play time or [snow]men or [snow] angels or sleds or pleasantly rosy cheeks.
It came swirling and menacing, threatening and gave red, bitten cheeks and cold, freezing cold---
The world was unprepared. No one's coat was thick enough, no one's gloves able to ward off the buzzing flakes—they may as well have had rocks in them, the flakes—they were so assaulting and insulting.
Maybe the sky got confused, and is as excited for Christmas as I am.
But like all things that come prematurely,
what should be beautiful and sweet is instead bothersome at best.
cold, biting,
bitterly disappointing,
and leaves one
completely empty.



p.s. I am still going private. This is your last and final chance to send me your email address : )

Tuesday, October 20, 2009



I'm goin private.

I gotta explain.

I WANT all of you to read my words--it is oddly therapeutic to have some total strangers, barely acquaintances, and friends of friends or innocent google-rs reading them. To just feel like I’m getting STUFF out there. I have actually really enjoyed the fact that anyone can access my blog. I don’t find random readers creepy or odd, but rather very flattering.


However, there is a very small presence

of a very small one person

who has abused my openness.

I have to be rid of it,



I do not desire to live my life small, but rather to become big

and write with the whole world in my arms. (thanks, natalie goldberg)

To live open to everyone who wants. To give my words away to you, with no second thoughts, regrets.To hope that somehow, my words can help you

to feel something.

I do not desire to share my life behind the confines of a securely screwed-down computer screen,

for I itch for freedom more than anything else in this world.

But I suppose we all make choices that restrict our freedom, even if we do not realize it.

I’m still trying to pick up the pieces.


I just sat for a good five minutes pouting that I have to do this. to force your openness when I am so perfectly content with you being anonymously present. knowing  that some of you will be too shy and too non-committal to say Yes, I read.

I suppose I will have to let go of my therapy and my small, itty bitty influence in your life—wherever that brain that reads this sentence is living.


Readers give these words life.

I don’t want to let go of that.

So please, please, PLEASE, send me your email addresses and continue to read,

if you so desire,

whoever you may be.

Friday, October 9, 2009


because unlike my middle school loves scribbled all over my book covers this love is

and I am happier than I have ever been.

I almost apologized that this post is probably going to come again and again in some form or another but no, no, no. I am not apologizing.

This man (and he is a MAN. which i love. a separate topic on which i could write a thesis) with his light eyes, his smile, his sensitivity, and his work ethic and his devotion to right things, is mine.

I itch for him to be MORE mine.
But I am content just to love him, LOVE LOVE LOVE like a little girl and like an 80 year old woman, all at once.