I Am Allowed To Sleep

Growing up, my mom was very consistent with my bedtime ritual: bath, book, bed. Bath -- warm water, bubbles. By seven or eight months old, this first step was so necessary that my dad, left alone with me for an evening, had to call my mom away from a coffee (a military-wives get-together) because I... Continue Reading →

A Drive

I put on socks and shoes for the first time in days. Still comfortable, nothing too fancy. If I wanted to, I could go for a walk, and I could walk for a mile or two without getting blisters. I brush my hair. Pull it into a ponytail. My phone, wallet, and mask are on... Continue Reading →

The Ghost in the Machine

Mary Shelley's "On Ghosts" is an interesting little article/essay. It's more of a meditation on: With all the scientific advancements, with all the mysteries being explained, do we truly not believe in ghosts anymore? She begins by pointing out that myths and legends are just that: myths and legends, stories once told by unenlightened cavemen.... Continue Reading →

Nothing Sets My Teeth On Edge Like Pretentious Writing Essays

There are two books that I go to pretty regularly when I'm struggling with writing. I head straight to On Writing¬†by Stephen King when I'm thinking my Life As A Writer is useless and when I think I Should Never Dream of Writing Again. His biography is similar enough to my background to make me... Continue Reading →

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