One morning, around the age of forty, I woke up, and my boyfriend of fourteen years said, "Honey, I have some bad news. I'm breaking up with you." So, I said, "Well, here's some more not-so-great news, you're fifty, and Bigfoot isn't real. Enjoy living with your parents." I met Jack in my twenties at a show we were both doing at a comedy club in Los Angeles. It was 1995, amid the OJ trial madness, which doesn't matter except that we saw Marsha Clark, the lead prosecutor, at a bar later that night which was weird. She has super curly hair, by the way. After that, we made out in my car until the wee hours of the morning, which lead to us spending the next decade and a half of our lives together. For the record, I don't usually make out with men I've just met. Okay, sure, a couple or three times, but a lady can't allow such behavior to become a habit. However, it could not be helped because he was charming, funny, and handsome with big...
i like to say i’m not a poet and i still don’t think i am but it’s not because i don’t like poetry (which i still mostly don’t) but more likely because i’m afraid my words won’t be as good as they are when i write other things because when you write poetry every single word matters but when you write a story or a letter you’re able to think softer and hide behind a scene or a fake character that you say isn’t yourself but usually it is and you think the reader doesn’t know that so it’s less scary than writing ambiguous poetry i get some of my best ideas when i’m high and i can never write when i’m high because i can’t articulate the idea as well when i’m high but i know it’s still going to be one of my best because i’m high and, sidenote, i hate that people use the word ‘high’ in reference to all drugs because when i say i’m high i only ever mean pot but when i read certain stories there are characters who are also high but they did hard, scary, addictive drugs that i would neve...
My Bully’s Name is Stephanie In kindergarten I tried to change my name to Kelly and I became best friends with Stephanie who didn’t try to change her name but never told me I was weird and we laughed on the playground and played with our dolls and learned how to spell and dream. In second grade Stephanie decided to be friends with Brittany instead and no one ever told me but I figured it out when they laughed at me at recess and made excuses to keep me from playing with them and I tried so hard not to cry until I got home. In middle school they played sports together but I found solace in books because maybe books wouldn’t make me feel so empty inside. In high school Stephanie nearly starved herself to death and I wished we could have been friends again so she’d know that I spent half my day with my face in the toilet because I couldn’t control myself the way I assumed that she could and it never occurred to me that she hated existence just as much as I did. In college I tried to forge...
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