Two days late.
Eleven, fourteen, eighteen days late. What the fuck is happening!
My cycle was like clockwork. I could count on it every 28 days. Without fail.
Day 25: Ravenous and unsatisfied, consuming everything in sight.
Day 26: Incredibly tender breasts, in need of constant massaging.
Day 28: Hello Aunt Flo. All is crampy, tired, and perfectly, happily normal.
It had been a while since my last gentleman caller. I’d been avoiding the dating scene and honestly, just couldn’t run the risk of any more bad sex. It’s like the men don’t even care to try anymore…
It’s 11:58 pm on the eve of a decision. A decision I’ve been putting off for years.
Because I’m fucking scared. I’m scared of the change and I’m scared I won’t go because I’m comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong…being comfortable and feeling the support of a safety net beneath my feet has been wonderful. It has also been a regret in my life so far.
I graduated college in 2003 and left California to start living my adult life to dive into adventure and experience. Somehow, three years later, I ended up back in California for a “quick stay”…
Isn’t it such a brilliant feeling when you’re tapped into your writing flow? The world melts away and it’s just you, your creative spirit, and a blank page filling up with words. Your words.
I’m so impressed by you. You have embraced your expressive medium. Whether the words you write are privately held, or aimed at reaching the readers of the world, the fact is, you’re writing and you’re a writer.
All writers know, and experience, the dreaded ‘writer’s block’. Writer’s block is typically looked at as bad, undesired, or negative. I’m here to present you with an alternative view…
I lay in my bed, bare and alone
A kiss to my pillow
Your lips to my mouth
Your hands through my hair
I think of the moment and sigh
And I open my eyes, only to realize
I am still alone.
I lay in your bed, bare but with you Eyes open wide to see your face Eyes lulled close with the touch of your hand My body turned in Your hand on my hip The space between is gone The space within in strong Pleasures of my pounding heart draw closer I close my eyes and pray and…
Consider these words…
The most difficult critics to deal with could be the ones you love the most.
This is understandable. The opinions of the people you hold dearest to your heart are often the most revered opinions.
I’m speaking from experience as a new writer. I’m taking my life into my hands knowing my mom is reading this article right now! “Hey, mom! Thank you for all your love and support. Please don’t follow me or read any of my articles. Love you lots, love you more!”
Here’s the thing. What a child does, or doesn’t do, is considered…
For all the times I slammed the door, For all the times I wanted more. For all the angry fights and tears, For all the hugs throughout the years. For all the prayers for all my flights, For all your long and sleepless nights. For all your tears I could not see, For all the love you have for me. For all the talks we never had, For all the times you made me mad. For all the things you sacrificed, For all the good and bad advice. For all the laughter that took our breath, For all the love…
Have you heard of the unseen string woven throughout the world?
It connects all people through space and time.
It’s invisible and yet you can feel it when it pulls you.
It tugs when you meet someone new.
It stings when you fall into an aching memory.
The energy between things.
What do you do when something invisible grabs you and connects you to another — when you or the other are already tied to someone else?
The energy between two people.
A desired, yet unfulfilled affair.
Unintentionally, they’ve pinned themselves together…
There is no “should” when it comes to how writers write.
Writers are a breed of their own. We chew on words like cows with a cud.
We spill our guts and self-criticize every step of the way.
We’re usually always trying to get better.
We’re currently reading this article to see if anything here will make us better.
HA! I love writers.
However, who cares what others say about what will or won’t make you a better writer? …
I am a platonic cuddler.
What does that mean, you ask?
It means I screen, then bring strangers into my home and we cuddle. For about an hour or so. We cuddle on the couch or on my bed. I’ve been doing this for about eight months.
What do I get out of it, you ask?
Quality time and physical touch without assumption and ulterior motivations. It’s loveless, it’s passionless and utterly fulfilling.
I think I’ve found a hidden gem. I’ve found something I never knew I was missing.
You still with me?
Single or not, if this sounds intriguing…