i wish i were addicted to something positive. like kale. but i’m not. i’m addicted to my phone. i’m addicted to instagram. i’m addicted to facebook. i’ve watched the “the social dilemma“. i’m aware of the signs. i have an addictive personality. i come from a lineage of addictive personalities. my great-great uncle died falling
the universe is a wonderfully, tricky b*tch sometimes and she [yes, she] has smacked me between the eyes once again. as explained in a previous post, every so often [a.k.a. all the time] when i am about to “take flight,” i fall down a bird hole. it happened, again.
i have worked nearly every day since i was 15. work has come to define who i am. it is not ALL that i am. i’m finally ready to fly in a new direction…
it’s been a wild couple of days, weeks, months, year. in april, at the initial height of the pandemic, i started drawing again … with my mom. i started calling this bird therapy … and all of this really started over a year ago.
last night i had a bomb dropped on me. this morning i woke up ready to fight back. then i paused to understand and strategize [like i always do]: … what am i hoping to achieve?… what do i want the response to be?… and most importantly, will throwing more bombs help me? let’s answer
there i said it. in 2008, i lived in chicago and i didn’t manage to get to the polls to help elect our first african american black* president [check out this article to understand why this distinction matters and this video to reinforce things.]
i love spinning metaphors into stories. puns and innuendos come pouring out of me, and sports themes tend to be top of mind. life is just one big game, isn’t it? the past few months have proven that time and again. here’s my story of being laid off from a 125-year-old company who enticed me
i’ve known from very early on that my husband was obsessed with pets. our relationship began because of a cat. he has more pictures in his phone of my uncle’s dog than of me. so we did it. after 10 years together. a million conversations on the topic. being chastised by friends even though it
i’m about to get on the road for wisconsin for a two week visit. it’s an 8 hour drive that i’ve done countless times from st. louis to be with my family. this time it’s during a pandemic. this time it’s by myself. this time i’m more anxious than normal. this time it’s needed more
an article about my uncle harvey was printed in the milwaukee journal sentinel august 13, 1995. it describes the oasis he created on his land following his accident better than I ever could … so i transcribed what was written. enjoy! [p.s. the above is a framed print of the original article, circa 1994]