You have never given a damn about anything going on in my life. You have never asked me about my writing, my passions, my college experiences, my family, my friends, my favorite bands, my favorite books, the foods I just can’t stand, or why I want a puppy so bad after not being able to fathom that option after Patches died. You have never been there for me, you have never cared. But, now...
My brother gave my sister Allie and me a plethora of gifts this year and among them were a set of whoopie cushions. We’ve already tricked Grandma twice. I’m okay with being 10 years old every day of the year. Never gets old.
Surface Your Brain, Canvas the Sky
In progress … “We are all made up of star-stuff.” -Carl Sagan I told him life is short and I told him that he should just go on and jump. I told him it was the only way he’d ever actually know. “Oh I hate those ‘ok’s.” Always a ball of frustration after my words met his eyes; you see, the man had tried to convince himself that he loved me, and I...
My freshman year of high school, I had a history teacher who liked to dole out trivia questions (mostly sports-related) for bonus points. One day, when asked who the first cover girl was for the first issue of Playboy, no one answered. Did they know and were too afraid to say anything? Or was Playboy too out-of-date by 2001, where Internet porn reigned supreme among cover girls? Either way,...
No, Mr. Truck Driver, for the gajillionth (yes, that’s a number) time I do not have a date to tomorrow night’s Christmas party. That would be the worst date ever and I do not wish to bone in or around the Mineola Steakhouse. Yet.
My mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas. A banjo. She said try again. A record player. She likes to repeat herself. A st. bernard puppy. And to that she just smiles. She buys me the same things every year. I think she forgets that I’m, like, way old and adult children are not fun to buy things for like when I wanted rollerblades and calligraphy kits and trash cans and nerf...
Some nights I fall asleep listening to chromatic scales. Practiced thousands of times, played in handfuls of competitions, and rehearsed and tuned to prior to concerts – my fingers find those natural grooves over the keys and my tongue thumps out the appropriate speed and force to hit those notes. I can find a B-flat in the air. I can give you three octaves. Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Sousa, The...
Drawers color-coordinated, books separated by genre then height in descending order, left to right, nightstands approximately four inches from the brass bedpost, CDs alphabetical by last name, and I could go on – my life at ten and probably fourteen and I’m not sure about seventeen, but there it was: one very clean and insanely organized room. I knew when a sheet of paper was misplaced at an...
Hipsters suck the life out of everything. →