Breaking the Bottle #8
May15

Breaking the Bottle #8

That mother’s day, my ex-husband dropped off our girls with me for the day, and we stayed with my friend Misty. Maybe 20 minutes later my grandfather called to tell me that grandma was being taken to the hospital by ambulance and wanted to know if I wanted to go with. I said “No, I just got the girls, and I need to spend time with them, please keep me updated.” He hung up, and we went on about our evening. I remember feeling guilty...

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Some People Just Suck
Apr28

Some People Just Suck

First off, I want to take the time to apologize for the lack of post in the past of couple of months. There is a reason, and while it may not be the best reason in the world, it is still a reason. I had a realization over the past couple of months. One that it took almost 31 years to have. Some people just fucking suck. Plain and simple. I think I would rather take my chances eating a pint of Blue Bell Ice Cream than be in the same...

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Alzheimer’s Revisited at Grandma’s Table
Apr27

Alzheimer’s Revisited at Grandma’s Table

Today, I was watching a video that turned out to be a trigger point into yesterday for me. It was a video of Glen Campbell and his song, “I’m Not Gonna Miss You.” It was a song that spoke of what he was going to be facing with his Alzheimer’s disease. From a deep sadness within I found myself going back a few years to my own grandmother’s last few years with this same disease. My grandma was my hero. She...

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Word Vomit: Dreams
Apr07

Word Vomit: Dreams

I’ve seen you in my dreams of late wide awake, trembling behind closed eyes I struggle to understand it all Flashes of you, wide smiles You aren’t alone this time I fear He who’s not to be named is too Three infants I’ve met before Their faces I know not, Their souls, I’ve carried within my flesh I recognize how they feel Precious but endangered Their cries make my heart race I feel helpless, In awe I...

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Breaking the Bottle #7
Mar18

Breaking the Bottle #7

One Saturday night in the neon glow and blur of a drunken karaoke performance, there was “Jorge.” He was happily shoving a hundred dollar bill in my cleavage as I bent down and screeched the lyrics of a song in his face. My dancing and singing on the bar wasn’t unusual; it was sadly typical. The patrons at the bar would simply move their drinks, and watch the spectacle. I wasn’t alone in the bar dancing. There were a few others...

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