Brings me back to the Czech Republic

Buddies

 

2018

 

Today's writing

I had a headache on our third evening there. Ross wanted to take a walk. I lay on the tatami mat, waving him away. He forgot his phone – I couldn’t track him. I couldn’t reach him. There was no reaching him, no knowing when he would return.

Minutes were glacial, seconds agonizing. What was he doing and who was he doing it with? And why didn’t I trust him? Why?

I don’t know how long it took for him to come back. I’d ducked and dived in and out of sleep, trying to flee the pain of body and mind. While awake I longed to be unconscious; in dreams I clawed my way out of slumber.

When he walked in, I was mostly out. I heard his feet on the landing, the key in the door. He looked so fucking happy to see me that I had no other choice but to spring.

Honey, I broke the dog

 

Propranolol, first day

You take it for anxiety. I think I feel something but am not sure. I'm so accustomed to the anxiety. Maybe it just lives in my head. 

Does this make any damn sense?

That’s not the concern in St. Louis. Tornados are the thing there. A while back they had a series rip through and now you can drive down the street to the tune of torn-up houses that have sat for years without repair. Punched-down roofs, kicked-in doors. It’s like God decided that the Gateway to the West had been a bad boy and needed some hands-on divine discipline. Lilith grew up to the tune of the sirens, that wailing wind, but never got used to them. That was easily half the reason she left – she couldn’t take the idea of the already half-destroyed city being chipped away around her. Sometimes you leave what you love because seeing it decimated hurts your heart, your being. You would rather be without it than let it be without itself.

Yoshi

 

From last night

 

I'm in CanvasRebel!

It's here!

From CONFLAGRATION

Lilith’s little cabin isn’t exactly swank: stained carpet, chipped tiles. Still, she’s made the most of what she has. She is, apparently, the kind of person who can toss a blanket and some peacock feathers around and give birth to style. The place is a tiny junior one-bedroom, but isn’t that enough for someone who is –

 

“Nineteen,” she says when I ask. “Twenty in December.”

 

Jesus Christ. I feel a little sick. Why don’t I just put on a trenchcoat and go to perv school? I mean, she’s legal and all, but how could I think that a young girl like this would want some sort of weird romantic entanglement with a middle-aged couple? How could I think that, indeed?

I miss my Baba

 

Writing versus editing

I've spent a few months editing and now I'm writing. It's shifting into an entirely different gear. Writing comes far more easily to me and yet it's hard to get there. Ya know?

2015

 

This Wednesday -- Berkeley Library, North Branch

 Author event, baby!