Note to world #4436

Of all the technological advances and clever innovations, there still wasn’t one that solved her urgent need for a bathroom when she was in the car.  So, until then, she just wasn’t going to be impressed.

Writing to say less 

My trade in life, 20 years of it
demands that I deliver

both brevity and clarity –
I am constantly

parsing and whittling,
editing myself down to the one

perfect – but ordinary – word
that says everything that once was stated with 30.

And then there’s my own personal penchant for sparsity and nuance.
Any novel I might have once

held inside of me
has been reduced to a few disjointed blog posts.

By the time I finish some projects,
I actually delete the whole thing

and have nothing.
Or I don’t write enough and

no one knows what I mean;
they fill in the spaces between with

their own thoughts.
But its not just my writing.

It’s also what I do in my dealings with other people.
I don’t say enough.

Or I’m worried I won’t make sense so I refrain.
Maybe I finally decide to say nothing at all because

it isn’t going to make a difference
and in the silence, I am interpreted and inferred into

something that is not my own.
I’m quiet a lot.

Feeling too much perhaps.
But very quiet.


i am restless,
out of place, so
i dream about moving to a town
so far away and small that
i am unknown — where the
only talk at the local diner is
the weather and coffee refills
but i stay here instead, practiced
pleasantries obscuring quiet
hope in a swirl of spoiled
creamer and
thin smiles.

in praise of g.w. carver

I walk the entire perimeter of the cafeteria. 

I almost eat a salad (!).

But eventually I reach for a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. 

Why? Because by lunchtime, I have succeeded in working myself into a sappy sack over sad old memories and things I can’t fix and stuff I’ve lost. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that PB&J can make so many sad things better. 

note to world #3423

here i am, internet surfing for garb for my upcoming ‘life-force yoga’ retreat. and i guess i’m learning that it’s a ‘thing’ that all yoga tops must be shaped like loose spider webs that hang off your breasts.  and i suppose no regular shapely and firm yoga-doing person cares much that i hate spider webs and that the last thing that hung off my boobs was a nursing baby who won the Nobel Prize in Physics for her contribution to the study of the acceleration of mass toward gravity.   and i wish i had paused – for even just one moment – before saying yes to something i had honestly thought was a “star wars” trilogy movie marathon weekend for ladies.