There’s such pressure when returning to something like blogging that it feels like I should give an account for where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. Have I been writing, is something new in the works, etc etc. Surely the reason for this absence is nothing short of marvelous, so that I might emerge with brilliance and wisdom that would give merit to my disappearance. I wish that were the case. I wish I could sit here and write—this, the first prose I’ve put to paper in six months, save …
everyday life
What Do You Want from Instagram?
“Every child is an artist,” said Picasso. “The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” As a lonely kid sitting on the couch with a pile of blank paper, I drew all the time—while I watched TV, while I waited for my mom to come home, in downtime at school. What I drew was people, mostly cartoons, then I wrote their stories and typed them up on my grandmother’s old typewriter. I went to the school book fair and bought a book called Gonna Bake Me a Rainbow Poem. On the cover …
February 5
The sun is shining today, dipping in and out of clouds. The world is still blanketed in snow from three days ago, but it’s slowly melting. Everything dripping. The driveway is clear, but the sidewalks are not, and I’d love to take a walk through town today. But the untouched snow would hit me mid-calf, so I can’t make the trek and I refuse to walk in the road. Adam took the car and Lily to the science museum today; the other car is getting an oil change. So, I am home alone and car-less, …
October 14
In the middle of the afternoon, I stand in the kitchen holding an egg and trying to determine if it’s been sitting out long enough to be considered room temperature. The egg has been out of the fridge for about an hour, sitting in a tiny blue bowl on the counter. In that time, I’ve wandered around the house looking for pockets of sunshine to warm my feet. Now I stand in the kitchen with its tiny white shell in my hand. My hand is warm, and the egg feels cool, but I have no clue what that …
October 5
I’m standing in the library in front of the new books section. I haven’t picked up a book in almost two weeks, the last one a deep disappointment after a string of intense and somewhat distressing reads. They all had one thing in common: they came from recommendations I found on the internet. I’m learning that may not be a good thing. After so many losers, I cut ties with books for a bit. I focused on other endeavors and didn’t miss reading all that much, which is surprising. I’ve read …