January 2015
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Not for me

My mom called me yesterday.


“You’re using your professional voice.  Are you busy?”

“No.  Hi, Mom!  I didn’t look at the number.  Didn’t realize it was you.”

“Yeah, you sounded wary.”

“I was not wary.  What’s up?”


“Oh my god, Mom.  Is there a rooster on your shoulder?”

She laughs, “No, but …Not for me


    I have mentioned before that Maj was a late talker.

    She entered speech therapy when she was about two and half years old, and at the time she entered speech therapy?  She was not talking at all.  She had only a very few words, and she used none of them reliably.  Not even “Mama.”


    Brittle sifting

    I sat down to write today.  I sat down to write about a sensation that occasionally floods my being with a reality other than the one before me.  This sensation is ephemeral and fleeting.  I reach for what it is . . . and it is gone.

    A memory?  A dream?  An imagined something?

    …Brittle sifting

    Cruel poetry

    I was watching Project Runway the other day, in which aspiring clothing designers compete in a reality show competition. Not one of my favorite shows, but I was sitting there all lazy and watching it. And Tim Gunn, whose job it is to make all of the competing designers feel insecure about their work …Cruel poetry

    Liquid blackness

    When I was a very little girl, we used to visit a house whose back yard ended at a channel.  It was my grandparents’ house.  Somewhere in Illinois.

    My grandpa would get me up early to come night-crawler hunting.  He would hold the flashlight, and I would struggle in the darkness to turn the …Liquid blackness