Kid of the Year? Or Salve to Your Conscience?
By the time she was 1, Rao was already telling her parents that she wanted to research carbon nanotube sensor technology at the Denver Water quality research lab.”
Erm, say what now 😂 That little tidbit above was supposed to make me ooh and ahhh with astonishment as to how amazing Rao is. But in fact, it did quite the opposite. The tidbit itself sounds farfetched at best, and is not at all verifiable. Same goes for the anecdote I read on her Wikipedia page where Rao asked…
Looking on the bright side of things has never really been my strong suit. The times I called myself “optimistic” were also times when I was either assured of success, or arrogant enough to believe that the outlook would be good no matter what. As I grew older, I fell more and more into the understanding that if something should go wrong, it will probably be my ass on the chopping block. I’m the person least likely to fit in anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. This has happened to me enough times for me to see the world as a…
I am a Too Much Woman.
Ev’yan writes: “Oh, that “too much” woman. . . too loud, too vibrant, too honest, too emotional, too smart, too intense, too pretty, too difficult, too sensitive, too wild, too intimidating, too successful, too fat, too strong, too political, too joyous, too needy — too much.
She should simmer down a bit, be taken down a couple notches. Someone should put her back in a more respectable place. Someone should tell her.”
I am a Too Much woman. I have been told, and have been put in my place. I do not rise, I…
The world is going to hell in a handbasket and pretty much all I would like to say is that everybody needs to remember who the fuck they are.
Politics is a cycle that is already worked out by people far more sinister, far more intuitive than we poor chickens. Don’t surrender to what you’re supposed to, what you’re expected to succumb to. This midterm election, vote for yourself.
Not like how Trump is saying “A vote for so and so is a vote for me” — but in the big picture sense. Vote for someone who you know, whose…
As always, for Allen.
On days, nights, mornings when sleep eludes me
I sit down and I write.
I write of love and pleasure
I write of home and life.
I write of jealousy, madness, and as your loving wife.
I write of hardships that linger
I write of problems that fade
I write of dreams and fantasies that come to pass
I write of progress we have made.
I write of longing.
I write of loss.
I write of growing old.
I write of staying young and staying fun —
I suddenly need a hand to hold.
When was the last time you had a drink and laughed about yourself with your partner?
For me, it had been a while. But this evening, he bought four beers and a pack of cigarettes, and we walked over to the courtyard and stood behind the gazebo as the sun set, talking talk like we usually talk.
Well, actually, let me correct myself: it wasn’t like we usually talk. We usually talk serious. We talk in-depth. We talk hard feelings and difficult times and, usually, it doesn’t end so well. Sometimes it’s a fight. Sometimes it’s a breakup. …
I had wanted to write about myself.
Like a little user-manual using Jungian cognitive functions, MBTI types, astrological signs, philosophical outlook, psychological self-diagnosis, and all these other fascinating methods of how humans get to know themselves. Not only did I see this user-manual as a sort of reckoning of accounts, a way to show oneself who one is when one is not a quivering heap of anxiety and deadlines and unpaid bills, but as a caveat emptor for all those who may come into contact with me. I’m awfully proud of the person I can be — even though many…
They say things start to make sense when you hit your thirties. Essentially you know how things work, and you make the best of what you have, and you learn to love what you do and end up doing what you love. All the platitudes aside, I always saw your thirties as the much-awaited and well-deserved relief from the panic and anxiety of your twenties. It’s the time of your life where you really just can’t be arsed and it’s great — because for the things you can be arsed about, you’re a phenomenal arse.
How amazing it is, really…
Through the years, I’ve said tons of sorries but never really thought about what an apology truly was in the first place. For the most part, my apologies have been simply communicating my sorrow at what happened because of me, whether it was intentional or accidental.
But apparently, it is so much more than merely letting the other person know how bad you’re feeling. And so, thinking it was high time I finally knew what it meant to sincerely apologize, I researched:
Apology. n. In interpersonal matters, an acceptance of responsibility for a wrong…