I’m a bad reader.
Like many other things I’ve accomplished in my life due purely to a desire to prove other people wrong, I learned how to read out of spite. To make a long childhood story short, I skipped the majority of 2nd grade thanks less to a belief in my academic abilities, and more to a surprisingly effective attitude that I would be ok because I had no other choice. Coming out of a Los Angeles hippie commune filled with celebrity children and teachers who believed I would do things when I “was ready”, I found myself in a summer school program designed to keep kids with working mothers occupied, unable to write in print, and unable to read. Continue reading “In Defense of Getting Bored”
As the sun starts to peek out from behind the unusually grey February clouds, a young woman’s mind turns to Festival Season: where the flower crowns fund Etsy shops for the winter months, and CamelBak sales are at their urban retail peak. Aside from the one vacation day a year I ration for the glory of overpriced beer and extortive merchandising, my favorite festivals mean a weekend sighting of the Bay Brigadoon: my Bestie, BFF, Biffles, the Only Long Distance Relationship I Believe In, the notorious Mr. Zen. Continue reading “Mr. Z”
My favorite teacher, discussing the practical applications of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet, used to say that tragedy was best defined by a bad turn of events, which could have been avoided. The kind of malfeasance that wouldn’t have happened if, for example, Romeo had an iPhone 7 and could’ve gotten Juliet’s “I’m dropping some dope shit the apothecary gave me so I’ll be out for a day, kthnxdontkillurselfbai” text- assuming that Romeo hadn’t already used up his data posting sad selfies on Instagram with superimposed, whiny fuck boy poetry about that bitch ass Rosaline who, let’s be honest, kind of dodged a bullet there. Continue reading “A Tale of Two Betches”
I remember changing my calendar over to May, and smiling tired at the face of the new month as it smiled back at me, standing in the 6:26 morning light without sleep and looking askance at the picture of myself in the long mirror on the door, where a handle should be. I thought, here it is: one constant in a world of uncertain things, this still familiar picture on my wall.
Two days later I couldn’t remember what the picture was, anymore. I locked the front door on my way in and flipped on the light to find April, solidly, looking back. Continue reading “Hallucinating”