I talk too much and cry too little. It’s true. I have no idea how to knit but I’m damn good at unraveling. Every time I wake up I get a little closer to the woman who waits to be born and reborn. Each time I am her totally. Each time I am not her at all. This is all...
He called me Dogface. No, really. He did. It was a term of endearment, I promise. A long-standing joke that wound through the years, connecting my grandfather and I. “Get me some more tea,” he demanded one otherwise unremarkable summer day. “How do you ask?” I...
77. I still feel – even after ten years – that bedtime is the work of evil spirits, sent to leave me broken and begging for mercy. Every. Single. Time. 78. Melatonin was sent by the goddess to make it all okay. 79. For the love of all things...
51. Some things can only be worked out through poetry. 52. We’ve been fed truths about relationships that aren’t really truths. Myths about happily ever after that don’t really serve and lies about love being limited that hold us back. 53.. Don’t hold back. 54. It...
26. I mostly write to myself. 27. If I sound particularly authoritative in a blog post it actually means I’m giving myself a stern talking to. 28. Sometimes I actually listen. Often I do not.** 29. If you are going to spout off statements like “I’m not a jealous,...
I’ve always figured that if I’m going to be a copycat, I might as well focus my efforts on emulating the cool kids (copying regular folks is clearly not a good use of time). And dude, the cool kids don’t come much cooler than Colleen Wainwright (raising $61,517 in...
