Image from depositphotos.com

The silent wall.

I stare at it.

Willing it to speak.

Willing it to grow a hand and reach through to me.

To touch me.

It won’t.

I fell in love with the wall months ago.

We’ve had some back and forths. Lovely ones. Start and stop ones.

For a split second, the wall opened up and sent me a really sweet text three days ago.

He said…


Against my Better Judgement

Image by Anastasia Shuravea on pexels.com

He is attractive. Tall. His smile pulls you in (though usually it’s not there). Hair is reddish-blonde. He looks great in a baseball cap. His face is a bit wrinkled — more than you’d expect for forty-seven years — but not much. Are the wrinkles from the sun?

Or maybe…


Death was something I was taught to covet, even as a little girl.

It was the other side of things. It was the eternal comfort — the eternal Home. We longed for it. Like crazy.

Those of us in the meeting.

The meeting room in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where my mom grew up with her eight siblings

The meeting’s roots go back to England in the…


She’s so flexible!

“Alexa,” set a reminder not to drink tomorrow night at 7 pm.”

“Okay, I’ll remind you tomorrow night at 7 pm. By the way, when your reminder rings, you can snooze it by saying, “Remind me again in 15 minutes.”

“Oooooo, well there’s an interesting thought! I had not thought of that one.”

She’s not a stickler when it comes to working…


And Didn’t, Do.

photo from UnSplash by Joanna Nix-Walkup

Here is a real story

of a real Bumble Date

of a real man

Who’s real first name was Michael

and who’s fake last name was Venice.

Michael Venice was in my phone, in my life,

for sixty-eight days:

Michael Venice put his hands down my pants on day one.

He did not touch my pussy. His fingers grazed two centimeters beyond it.

He pushed me up against his car and made out…


By Natalia Morales on Pinterest (black added by me)

Having a hole in your heart

is better than having a bruised heart

from living in a relationship that’s not working.

A hole, you can fill or enjoy the vacancy thereof.

A bruise festers. It buries you.

My bruise is gone.

My hole is there.

It’s a living, breathing thing…


the great gatsby really got me, this time. it was lost on me in high school — i was annoyed and confused with it, then. i was a christian. i remember judging the narrator for not realizing that he was wasting his breath on the whole story, because of course…

Dr. Anita

Fly adult. Coming at you like a bowl of cereal on a Sunday morning in front of the TV. Never had a TV. But I do now.

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