Since childhood I had held my personal night at bay with artificial light of my own design: third helpings of pizza and forgetting myself in five books a day, outrageous lies and sexual exploits, hash laced joints and lines of meth, camel menthols and twelve hour workdays. I had always lost myself in a hundred things so that I never had to face the night inside.
How do you tell your new husband that the (relatively) sane woman he married is on leave and a weepy clinically depressed woman is moving in? How do you tell him that you’re not sure how long she’ll stick around, a day, a week, or a month, but last time she visited she really overstayed her… Continue reading My Love, the Darkness is Coming
I have never had a proper filter on my mouth. As a speak-now-deal-with-the-consequences-of-your-speech-later kind of girl, I have a tendency to make people uncomfortable. As a young child in the middle of my parents’ divorce, I frankly informed the principle of my school, Sister Carmelita, who also happened to be my mother’s former boss, that my… Continue reading The Things We Don’t Talk About