detail of Blue-Yellow-Red from Colorfields (1974) by Gerhard Richter
This past week I culled the email list of people who recently took my personality type test. I had to sort through a lot of snippy emails that a filter won’t decide on. Example:
First name: poop
Last name: poop
First name: I don’t
Last name: Give a fuck
No Artificial Coke (2016) by Clara Hallencreutz
The Poem of the Day was Having a Fight with You. I click.
is like being burned up
in a twelfth-floor elevator.
Or drowned in a flipped SUV
My heart starts to race. I know those feelings—of not being able to breathe, not being able to move. In the corner of my bedroom on the floor while my mom stood over me, hitting me. Or trapped and naked on my dad’s lap while his hand spanked and slapped. Read more
Detail of The Cholmondeley Children at Houghton Hall by Dickinson
Last month I spent tons of time going to the hospital for cancer tests. Which means I got clarity about what was really important: getting dressed for doctor visits.
I felt way too tired to stick to my regular routine of promising to post on my blog and then not doing it, but I didn’t want doctors to think I’d given up on life. So I tried to dress like a glass-half-full person. But all my clothes are either work-from-home-pajamas or pitch-a-company-black. Whatever, it turns out that focusing on being optimistic is not a way for me to feel in control. Read more
Z is recording Bach. Fifteen minutes earlier he lost his music which is normal for him. When he was six years old his teacher could change a bowing pattern right before a performance and he’d remember just fine. Now, at 16, he can’t remember a bowing pattern even if he checks it right before he records. He knows that it’s because of his brain injury, and he tries to be patient with himself. But losing the music is more difficult. Read more
Every morning my Google Calendar alert says “you have no events scheduled today.” This used to be my favorite part of my email, but my prayers for permanent lockdown went unanswered, and my brother did shared screen to help me book a flight and he saw I have no calendar and he lost his shit. Read more
I am with my son at Northeastern University Law School for a day of panels about socialist initiatives. My son told me no writing blog posts in the back of the room. “Can you please just fit in today?” Read more
I am on a sad-movie-watching binge. It started a few weeks ago. Wait. No. It probably started when I was in third grade and there was no grownup home until 8pm, so after school I went to the movie theater every day for a week to watch Wilbur lose Charlotte and learn to fend for himself. Read more
Now that I am finally writing again, I’m so excited to tell you what’s been happening. And I have all these pictures I took, thinking, this will be good for the blog. But then I didn’t write anything. Read more
I coached this guy Tanner who invented a thing to make milk flow smoothly in tubes and now he’s a millionaire tech CEO. During his fifteen-year marriage he’s scheduled sex with his wife, on a calendar, a year in advance. He was surprised to hear other couples do not do this. Read more
I am in our weekend getaway hotel room watching Melissa follow the rules for dating. She is sprawled on the sofa reading while I brush my teeth with her toothbrush because I forgot mine. Read more