Archive for January, 2013

Pat’s dad pops his head in, a quick jerk like a jack-in-the-box.  His face is bland, his head dull and balding.  He’s so boring, almost invisible like another shade of yellow blending into another wall in the house. His face, frozen and dead, his eyes fixed and expressionless as he stares at me on the […]

I’m sitting under a painting of a naked lady.  Once a week, I sit in the corner of the café with my writer friend Diane.  She’s fond of saying, “I tell people I spent my morning under a naked lady.” And it’s true. The painting is huge: spans a quarter of the wall of the […]

“Every hear of Syd Barrett?  Original singer of Pink Floyd.  Now, he’s a genius.” Pat says. He flips through his records gracefully, an odd and gentle gesture I’ve never seen before.  He slips the vinyl out of the paper, holds the record by the edges like it’s a red-hot wire, a lit bomb about to […]

“How bout a tour, my love.  Welcome to your new home!” he pulls me off the floor, waves his hand in the air like a tour guide in a fancy top hat. The living room is as just as sterile as the kitchen, beige and off-white throw pillows tossed against a cream linen couch.  A […]

Someone has found me inspiring.  I’ve only been  here a month, and instead of shooing me away with mean words, I’ve been accepted, nominated, and bestowed.  Wow. It’s like being picked first for the team (not that has EVER happened) or someone saving you a seat in a crowded lunchroom! Thanks goes to my nominator: […]

I’m famous for running away.  From Michigan to Indiana to Texas and California.  Physically. Emotionally. From work. From partners. From my feelings. A fabulous reader (and to be honest I do know him, but that doesn’t make him any less cool!) AndrewM left an interesting comment about the benefits of running away.  He states: Sometimes […]

Pat drags me into the kitchen, through a swinging door that almost smacks me in the face.  The kitchen is silver and steel,a surgical station without instruments or gadgets or quiet nurses in white. My reflection can be seen everywhere – the fridge, the stove, in the bottom of the scrubbed and empty sink; it […]