June 1, 2024 3:00am
Once, I had a blog.
I updated it weekly, or, semi-weekly.
I became pretty burned out pretty quickly by updating the thing so I stopped. As people do.
The aliens came not long after. They had based their entire life on my words. Their culture was on my stories, their attire on my Instagram, and their vocal intonations on my own unique pronunciations of words.
“You are like our goddess,” they said to me.
“Cool,” I said.
“Cool,” they repeated, jumping on Amazon and buying the same sweater I wore as I stood before them.
“What are you doing?” the youngest asked.
“Cutting my bagel in half.”
“Lengthwise?”
The other aliens gasped at the precocious youth and pulled him into the safety of their group. But I was not a cruel God. I would not punish his curiosity.
“Seriously though,” my husband spoke up. “Cutting your bagel lengthwise is weird as fuck.”
March 18, 2024 3:00am
I would like to tell you where I’ve been.
I would like to tell you I’ve been fighting ninjas over San Francisco. Dangerous ones with blades and expert marksmanship and I’ve been in mortal danger.
I would like to tell you I’ve been holed up in hiding because I’ve learned terrible secrets of the universe, whispered to me by a mystical beast in a dark cave late at night.
I would like to tell you I’ve been swimming with the mermaids off the icy coasts of Iceland and my fingers have been too numbed by their scaly fins and seaweed hair to type.
I would like to tell you these interesting things.
They are not true.
I am sad.
Times are hard.
Imagination is fickle.
We are taught to say “thank you for your patience” when we want to say “I’m sorry” because we’re learning, as a generation, to forgive ourselves.
Thank you for your patience.
February 26, 2024 3:00am
I have one very long tooth.
It’s in the back of my mouth so you can’t see it, but I know it’s there. Waiting for me to try to eat something, to bite. To chomp. It wants me to masticate. To chew.
Chewing is, after all, rather disgusting when you think about it. Grinding your food into a thick, gooey paste.
The moment I try—ow!
There’s that tooth.
Stabbing me. Getting me good. Nicking my tongue. Rolling over my lip and making me sore.
The problem is that it keeps getting longer. It’s a stalagmite, growing up and up in through my mouth, a tusk of awesome size, hidden by my puffy, chewed-up cheeks and getting bigger and bigger by the day until—
Oh.
Oh no.
It’s poked a hole right below my eye.
It’s going up. Up higher. It’s breaking through the roof. It’s going up to the skies. They can see it on radar. It’s going to bust through orbit.
So, you see, September really won’t do for a dentist appointment, do you have ANYTHING sooner?
February 21, 2024 3:00am
It’s not that I’m afraid of the angels, per se.
It’s that they keep showing up in the mirrors.
Tiny slivers of them, sparks of sunlight, dancing through the edges of my face.
What incredible highlighter you’ve got on, you say, admiring my reflection. You ask me what brand it is.
It’s just the reflection, I tell you.
A lie, of course. It’s the amgels. And, as I said, I’m not afraid of them. They’re staying there. In the mirrors. On the edges of my cheeks. On the top of my nose. Illuminating me.
For now.
How long? How long until they make me glow? How long until I am a sunbeam in every storefront? How long until every eye turns my way when I pass a rearview mirror? How long?
And what does that mean for me?
How many of them are clinging to me then?
How much am I weighed down then?
And how certain am I that they are just angels?
February 19, 2024 3:00am
“Jesus, how many tabs do you have open?”
A lot.
“You keep that up, you’re going to cause a rift in time and space.”
I had been warned this before, but I never listened. I rolled my eyes and left clicked. Open in new tab. I knew I was going to need to save this recipe for later.
The party got a little weirder. Janet grew horns. Erik, a tail.
“I told you this would happen.”
I never listened.
“This is only going to get worse if you keep it up.” He crossed his arms and leaned back into the sofa as it started to melt around him. I watched him disappear into the void.
I’d miss him.
“Hey! Does anyone remember that one tweet by Karen?”
“Dude, didn’t she delete her Twitter last year?”
I did. It was one of my tabs.
I could never delete them now.
February 14, 2024 3:00am
For some reason, we call it Valentine’s Day.
But who was Saint Valentine?
A martyr. Decapitated for marrying lovers against the King’s wishes. Honestly, for reasons to go, that’s the most sentimental, isn’t it?
And not the prettiest.
And who are you, descendants of the lovers who killed Saint Valentine? Do you eat the chocolate of the martyr who married your ancestors? Do you cry over little red pieces of paper and wish for someone to call your own? Do you dream of candlelit dinners and romantic nights?
I certainly hope not.
These things cause people to lose their heads.
Remember our friend, Saint Valentine.
Remember all of the heartbroken.
February 12, 2024 3:00am
“You’re always the villain in someone’s story,” she tells me.
“That’s simply not true,” I say. “I’ve always been good to everyone.”
I list all of my philanthropic ideals, charities, and good deeds. I kept a very careful list, because lists are safer than ever being called a villain.
“Sometime someone is going to think you’re fake or think you’re mean and you’re going to be bad in their eyes,” she says. “You just have to get over it.”
But I won’t. Absolutely not. I will be liked by everyone.
I go back to the laboratory.
I start work on The Machine.
It will radiate energy that makes everyone like me at all times. In all ways. No matter what. I’m going to be everyone’s friend.
Why are you looking at me like that?
This is a great idea. I’ve been working on it a long time.
Oh my God. It’s you, isn’t it? I’m your villain.
What can I do? The machine isn’t finished.
Don’t leave. Wait. It’s still in beta. Maybe if I try it, if you just stand still…
February 7, 2024 3:00am
My cat’s nails are too long.
He digs them into everything. My furniture. My carpet. My heart.
I think I’m going to get him into writing.
He’ll imagine tiny little kitty shaped worlds with vast, kitty shaped stars and kitty shaped wizards that fall in love with kitty shaped maidens. They’ll have sizzling kitty shaped romantasy stories that he’ll think of as his heart story and he’ll write and write and he’ll send his story to his friends.
They’ll tell him it’s terrible.
He’ll go back and write again.
He’ll go back and they’ll tell him it’s better but he needs more edits. So he’ll edit and edit and edit and it’ll come out beautiful and robust and he’ll be so proud. He’ll want to share it with the world.
He’ll decide to publish his book.
He’ll query and query and face rejection after rejection. He’ll do market research. He’ll learn he needs to make a brand.
He’ll write short stories. He’ll fail at publishing them and feel small and disconnected. His kitty eyes will cry little kitty tears of pure, unadulterated rejection.
He’ll create social media accounts and create a brand. He’ll sell himself. He’ll feel disconnected from his own soul. He’ll stay up late nights and into the wee morning staring at his social media pages wondering who he is.
Maybe then he’ll start biting his damn nails like I do and stop scratching my chairs.
February 6, 2024 3:00am
It’s really cold outside so I’m going to fall in love with you.
That’ll warm me up.
We’re going to meet over a bridge, I think. Somewhere remote, but close enough so you don’t feel afraid. I never want you to be afraid.
And I’ll reach my hand for yours.
You’ll reach back.
The nights we be warmer for our touch. For our closeness. For our love. You’ll wrap me in a blanket and I’ll make you a hot chocolate. You’ll pick up my slippers when I leave them on the floor. I’ll do the dishes. You’ll sweep up the fireplace again because I forgot to.
It doesn’t bother you this time.
The next time, though, your eyebrows knit together.
Why am I always leaving the ashes in the fireplace?
We are warm together under the blanket. The nights aren’t cold. But the hot chocolate is in paper cups because I forgot to do the dishes again. You simmer in annoyance. I roast in your irritation.
Finally, you trip over my slippers and fall to the floor. Can’t I just respect you? Can’t I do anything right?
I’ll do it right this time. I’ll fix it.
I don’t.
When the last fireplace ash is swept up and the last dish is cleaned, you leave. You take your warmth with you and I stand, watching as the warmth leaves my home, watching as I wallow again without you.
This is how I will deal with the cold.
February 5, 2024 1:30am
Late night contemplations.
I’m sure you’ve felt it too, that need for change. It bubbles up under your skin, sizzles in your veins. We’ve all seen what the need for change can do to a person, what awful things they’ve accomplished while under the influence of change.
It’s a draining thing.
A damning thing.
To issue change is to issue a point of self which we don’t know yet, to question the very fabric of ourselves and to open it up to a point where we can be, and not who we are.
It opens us up to vulnerabilities.
Consequences.
Have you thought about the consequences of your changes?
Do you know what they mean?
Anyway, so I changed my socials so they’re more focused on my writing now, I hope you like them. ♥️
