Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

As January is only eighteen days in, and I'm failing at life and 2019, I sit here wondering when the swells of damage will subside.  Perceptions will always fool you. In seven days: I lost one of my emergency contacts as she made it clear she wanted to know my contingency plan.  Well, it was never for her to take care of me.  So, I won't bother her again.  That one rips me to my core as I've never asked anyone to take care of me.  I'm done being there for people, as in the end . . . Had someone comment, more than once, that we've known each other for a long time.  Well, we've known each other so long that he lied to my face.  Even more: he doesn't know me.  At all.  He doesn't know my brother's name, my favorite color or flower, doesn't know that he's a big reason the occasional date usually ends as a dud as the dude across the table falls flat in comparison.  He doesn't know I still remember the day he told me to call him by his...

When my last book released, another academic marvel and a monograph this time, someone asked how my book party was and where it was at.  I stood there, rather stunned, as--well--there was no launch party.  None of my books, articles, or literary forays have ever gotten a launch party or social nod.  Instead, my reviews and critics have generally been kind and warm with notes of praise, yet when you are me, and always on the outside looking in there is no one to throw a party for as we say.  I'm still taken aback by the question.  Still shocked by how hard it hit me. Yet, the reality has long been there.  Waking up alone is one thing.  Always being alone another.  Never having anyone to celebrate with . . . well, that's a marker in and of itself. Though, as any socially adjusted adult does (I use that term loosely) I attempt to engage in adult activities, socialize, meet people for drinks, and do this tango from hell called dating.  I...

When 2016 started I began the year staring at the television, sitting alone on my parents couch, as my Dad slept in the back and the dog was with him.   That day we had checked my mother into a nursing home.  At that moment, I remember thinking if this is a sign for the coming year . . . Yeah. 2016. Here's your fucking match.  Celebrity deaths aside, it's like this year had it out for the world, with a vengeance and flare. That being said, there are many reasons that the departure of this year is a blessing, and by and large I really don't have it in me to rehash every horror filled moment of the 2016 realm of Dante's hell . . . 2016 being the layer he never wrote about.  For two weeks I've been trying to figure out what I would write to close this year . . . I've sewed some, made bras and jeans and a couple silk blouses, I've travelled, I've taught, I've collapsed under it all, I've lost myself, I've lost my faith in resilience . . ...

A few months ago I found myself in Providence, RI.  This week I'm in Iowa City, IA for writing and work, and as I find myself continually lost among the corn stalks and melting under the sun's burning rays intensified in this open, almost barren, Midwest heat I leave you this.  In the 2002 movie The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood Ashley Judd’s character flees home, family, and perhaps sanity as she escapes to a seaside hotel.   Awaking a day or so later, she learns from the hotel operator how much time has passed.   In that moment, the power of revitalization has taken over.   The viewer can almost see the sweet relief in her shoulders, even as she frantically calls her children.   Yet, the power and pressure of the young—and even more mature—mother is not the only narrative here.   Women, across the board, are all in need of that frantic night away.   The solitary night, in a bed you didn’t have to make, sheets you didn’t have to w...