I don’t know how to grow things. I know how to go to the store, buy lettuce, and then go out for pizza and let the lettuce rot.

When your father writes what he wants you do with with the body, you pause.

Most people see the fab four crossing the street, but I see them walking away, leaving.

I mean, you’re going to die anyway, so you might as well make the most of the time you have here.

I tend to resort to greeting cards when I’m not able to come up with words myself, but I still always have a hard time finding a card with words I can relate to or want to say.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved a turkey…

Enjoy this post! It’s my gift to you.

I kept thinking I was on the wrong groove: I was a needle stuck in static, a train that was in danger of flying off the tracks. I lived with a body sense of not safe, not home, not okay. I thought I would write my way to okay, but I wrote about being not safe, not home, not okay, and so there I was—not safe, not home, not okay.

Increasingly, I am working on thinking mostly about the past to thinking mostly about the present and the future.

Today is May 1st. May Day. Maybe this is the day for you when anything is possible. Make your wish. See what happens.

It’s a thrill to write a blog post and to get a comment back, even a negative one. There are so many ways of feeling heard.

When you think of what it’s like for a baby to be born you may realize that was the worst day of your life.