Writing

Monday Morning in Suburbia (new year edition)

Categories Mental Health, WritingLeave a Comment on Monday Morning in Suburbia (new year edition)

I have tasted defeat. I am tasting it right now. 

It tastes like cold wax from burnt candles, hardened, sharp bits on your lips. 

I tried for four years. I tried to be more than I could dream of. I tried to have a single-line epitaph (“She wrote.”). But I failed. And the fire is all but extinguished. This is no way to start a year. But I am defeated. And I am tired. I am so tired. 

Please, do not bring God, or love, or children to this discussion. Do not bring any of that. Don’t tell me I’m ungrateful. Defeat is a solitary, wrenching conversation between abstract desires that only live in ephemeral form and have now disappeared. It has nothing to do with God, or love or children. 

To lose faith, to lose god, is one thing. To lose the fragile flame that flickers inside, to have it finally extinguished, is akin to a death. And there is no epitaph. Well, maybe this is one. 

A 21st Century Mom of One Tries to Write

Categories Life, Other, Writing2 Comments on A 21st Century Mom of One Tries to Write

After she had vacuumed the carpet and gotten on her knees with a stain remover, spraying freely on the dark spots, the little cloth foaming with her scrubbing. 

After she had taken out the organics to the big bin in the garage, wiping the wet spot the paper “Bag to Earth” had left on the counter. 

After she had filled up the dishwasher, put the detergent in, and turn it on. 

After she had done the other dishes by hand, sprayed a bleach cleaner into the sink, and cleaned, dried, and put away a whole miscellanea of utensils and kitchen stuff.

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