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In Defense of Getting Bored

Scan 129.jpgI’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”

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Poetry

The List

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  1. They think Lee Harvey Oswald was trying to kill Governor Connally instead- did I ever show you the musical about this? It doesn’t have James Franco, though. Sorry.
  2. There’s an Ugly Christmas Sweater with the alphabet lights from Stranger Things; I also started liking it right after that episode. Probably should have mentioned it earlier.
  3. My cousin is a Surprise Republican, which my dad absolutely loves, even though he didn’t vote third party. I have to put a Cessation for Peace on political discussion in this house, however. For all of our sakes.
  4. I started making lists again, not parceling my words this time so much as putting them somewhere, anywhere, besides that little white box and pressing send.
  5. The things I’m trying not to say are building tally marks on the inside of my eyelids
  6. It’s so much worse to remember happiness, than to remember pain
Flash Fiction · Poetry

Minutes


There are 20 minutes left in this day, and I’m ready not to think anymore.

All I want to do- were I unhampered by all these pressing eyes- is to sit and think, staring at nothing in particular, about your face. I wonder how it’s changed since you’ve been gone? I say that you’ve been gone because you left, even though it was more of a literal inevitability than a gesture of abandonment. It didn’t feel any better.

15 minutes left. Continue reading “Minutes”

Flash Fiction

Before the Break(up)

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“I’m just tired of living like a fucking nomad.”

I stopped trying to shove yesterday’s jeans into my work purse and exhaled frustration. He had lent me sweatpants again; because I had slept over again, because we saw each other post 9pm again, because it was the only time we could get together and I felt guilty if I only stayed an hour. Again.

“You can keep some stuff here, you know” he said, in the same way he always did.

“I know. But then I wouldn’t have it at home. I just hate carrying everything back and forth all the time, it drives me nuts.”

I just want to go home, hang up my sweater where it won’t get wrinkled, put my underwear in the laundry where it will stay and not revisit the same bra again six hours after I take it off. I just want to go home. Continue reading “Before the Break(up)”

Flash Fiction

Casual

img_8758I wished it was over as soon as it began. I wondered vaguely what I had wanted, what the disconnection was between what my head wanted and what my body clearly could do without.

I didn’t know how to tell him I didn’t care if I finished, because I’d rather he just end it so I could go home and sleep. Maybe I just liked knowing someone wanted me- because the sweat, the pain, and the awkward recognition of fakery in my own voice I could do without. I didn’t bother to fix any of it because I didn’t really care. Continue reading “Casual”