Remembering and not remembering.

The third-worst job I ever had involved a lot of dread. Dread and anxiety and pressure and deadness and agonizing wishing it would end. Maybe not as full-of-dread as the Moroccan mafia toy import company, and maybe not as full-of-deadness as the assembly line. But the...

A brief interview with my blog.

Yes. Yes. And we begin. Me: So, you’re my blog. My blog: Yes. Me: I wish you had a name I could call you. My blog: Okay. Pause. If I think of something I’ll let you know. Me: Isn’t it a little weird that we hang out six times a week and I’ve...

On PTSD.

Yesterday morning I had a moment. The simplest trigger: at a cafe, an old framed portrait on a white wall that reminded me of something from then. And I was off. Cycles of panic, terror, helplessness, pain, fear. And then I came back. Doing the things that help me be...
The Fluent Self