This week has been one of those ones that challenged my faith in humanity. It's no secret that in my perfect world we could all live our lives as we see fit as long as we don't interfere with the lives of others. Unfortunately, this requires a level of self-awareness and authenticity that few are able to achieve. It all started when I asked a co-worker about her divorce. Her response ended with, "Thanks for pretending to care." I pointed out that my concern was genuine. She was a bit embarrassed, and so was I, but this feeling stemmed from different places. I can't surmise hers, but mine was the fact that we live in a world where someone might just pretend to show concern. I often find myself in trouble because of my transparent emotions. It's no secret to those who know me that I say what I mean. I don't know any other way to exist. I love mysteries, and I'm a wickedly good detective, but I tire of sorting through veils of words and expressions and ac

I fell in love with poetry for the very reason that most people despise it. It's filled with hidden meanings. When I was a teenager it gave me a place to explore the emotions and questions that seemed taboo in my conservative Christian home. That sentiment never left, and most of my poems even to this day are written about deeply personal experiences that I feel I can never share in the light of full disclosure. My Instagram feed has turned into another experience like my poetry. I've been posting lately a lot of relatively cryptic messages comprised of photos I take and lines from various pieces of literature (including my own). If you knew the stories behind them you might cringe or hold a grudge or judge me, but that's okay. A lot of life is happening right now. I'm taking some huge risks. I'm making mistakes. I'm searching for answers. I spent the day at the beach this weekend with a friend. We let the strong current carry us far from our camping spot,

I posted this Sunday night on Instagram. This combination of a line from one of my favorite books and a photo I took while driving home one evening perfectly captured a realization I had that day. I am Daisy Buchanan. Most people who read "The Great Gatsby" develop a strong distaste for the main female character. She's vapid. She stays with a man who abuses her. She cheats on her husband. She neglects her daughter. She plays the men in her life against each other. She kills a woman. She lets the love of her life take the fall. The movie versions of the book turn her into a ditz. I once held these negative views about this fictional woman. They have evolved over time as the path of my life has taken me far from the one I initially envisioned for myself. I started to empathize with her and see her humanity, and most recently I saw her as a woman trapped by the expectations of everyone else. It doesn't change the morality of her actions, but it does make her more r

So many of my Facebook friends participated in the "gratitude" challenge. No one tagged me in it, and I was glad for several reasons that aren't relevant to this post. Despite my reluctance to jump in, I thoroughly enjoyed reading what everyone wrote and forced myself to privately count my own blessings each day. As you all know, some days are easier than others. I went back to work this week, grateful for the opportunity to have a regular paycheck again. However, I was under the impression that I would get paid Friday. I planned all my summer money around being paid Friday. Friday came and went, and my bank account remained exactly the same. So now I'm scrambling, frantically trying to finish some freelance work and making deals with relatives to borrow just enough to cover the bills that I must absolutely pay before I get my next check. Fortunately, I'm resourceful, and my God watches over me. I have half a tank of gas, a $25 gift card, and food in my

Yesterday I watched a woman sitting in front of the bank across the street. She caught my eye because she was rubbing her legs furiously, wincing as her fingers moved up and down her shins. When she dipped a plate in water and poured it over her legs I thought perhaps she was washing her body, but when she started talking to people who were not there, I knew the truth. She was mentally ill. I sat on the floor of the balcony and hid behind a chair as best I could, but it wasn't because I was afraid she would see me. My presence would not interrupt the party she was having with her imaginary companions. She was perfectly content pouring water over her legs, picking leaves off the hedges, and handing both to the figments of her imagination. I was just awed…and a little jealous of her ability to be completely ambivalent to others. You see, I spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. I have an idea of the person I want to be and how I want others to see me. So

For a few months now I've been following on Instagram a woman who left her country to live in the U.S. Each time my feed opens with her name my heart leaps a little as I prepare for the next rise or fall on the roller coaster that is her life. Her recent posts include delightful quotes about men who lie or turn out to be less than she expected, and I find them interesting to read. And I cringe. Dating is tough. I still remember the days of wondering if he liked me as much as I liked him and doing whatever I could to gently let down the ones who liked me more than I liked them. No one really enjoys hurting someone's feelings, but that's all part of the game. When I see these types of posts on my feed, I want to grab this woman and hold her and tell her to follow her path. What I don't understand, though, is the pressure we place on ourselves and other people as we go through this process. We scrutinize every detail of every conversation and text and facial exp

Sigh. Today was my last day at work for this school year. This was a rough end of the year, and I came home Tuesday completely exhausted, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I did what any reasonable person would do and ate an entire deep dish pizza (except for the two pieces Winnipeg managed to steal) and half of a carton of peanut butter ice cream. It reminded me of this poem I wrote several years ago. In my food induced coma, I decided I needed something more. Running was out of the question because my stomach was too full for that level of rocking and rolling. I needed to do something productive. I needed to finish a quick, simple project that would let me feel like I accomplished something. I opted, instead, to try out my new power tool. A chain saw. A real life chain saw. I've never used a chain saw before, but I think I am addicted to the rumble of the motor. Forcing myself to control a favorite murder weapon in horror flicks felt amazing. It purred. It hummed. It shook the

I've been forced lately to learn a lesson in control...or lack thereof. This has been especially difficult for someone like me who started doing her own laundry in first grade. I have my own brand of delusion in which I think I have the power to change minds, influence moods, and keep the Earth spinning on its axis. So...maybe I don't have as much control as I think I do. Or should. For the last few months, I've thrown myself into a tailspin of exhaustive Internet searches and photo analysis. I've uncovered some truths and unearthed a few lies. There's power in knowledge, but with that power comes the realization that the world isn't as perfect as it seems. After spending nine years with a man who was in love with another woman and losing a fiance to his former girlfriend, I'm a little gun-shy about other women. The thought of dealing with that again terrifies me some days, so I go on the offensive to prevent it. All my energy goes into working out,

Never-a-dull-moment Nadia and I were talking the other day about a conversation she had with a friend. They were talking with a man about problems he was having with his girlfriend, and Nadia's advice was something to the effect that you can't change crazy. Her friend, who has been married for 9 years to a man who adores her, chastised her for the comment and said that love conquers all. Sigh. When I was dating, I had a never-ending stream of advice from people. My favorites were those from people who married very early in life and those who were married for decades. I'm not knocking the wisdom of people who have figured out how to maintain a relationship for such a long period of time, but it's really difficult to comment on dating if you've never really dated. Nadia and I talked about this, and I thought I'd share my favorite dating myths and bust them at the same time. 1. Love conquers all. This is such a beautiful sentiment that I wish it was t