Who are you?
My sources offer conflicting explanations, many of which, I am convinced, are complete fabrications.
The problem is, I can’t tell which ones.
I’m a 30-something woman living with old ghosts in the New South.
I have multiple sclerosis and trouble with authority.
I like to eat, and cook, and then eat what I cooked.
I gay-married my high-school sweetheart.
My favorite cuss word is “goddamn,” for absolutely no goddamn reason.
I like Halloween better than Christmas.
I have degrees in English and Library Studies. Would you like fries with that?
Sorry, habit. I meant to ask if you need room for cream.
Speaking of, I like my coffee, my chocolate, and my humor dark.
Why do you have your blog?
It’s cheaper than therapy, especially since my favorite therapist went boutique and stopped accepting insurance. Luckily, I was able to use the lovingkindness meditation she taught me to get over the grief. Mostly.
This blog is just the latest incarnation of my need to spill words instead of blood. I’ve kept a journal since the 8th grade, in a series of red spiral-bound college-ruled notebooks (diva, much?) and occasional cocktail napkins.
I intuited early on that talking to yourself is crazy, but writing down the same shit makes you an artist. I aim to challenge that perception by proving that even when you write it down, you’re still cray-cray.
What problems do you aim to solve, both for you and your audience?
These claims have not been evaluated by the FDA and are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.
I aim to help us shed all this unnatural free time that’s bringing us down.
As a rule, though, I’m much better at creating problems than I am at solving them.
Where are you?
Where are you not?
Facebook. It was too much about other people and not enough about me. (Half-kidding!)