Once upon a time, not very long ago . . . in fact happening right now, there lived a girl (okay, a woman of a certain age range that we will not address here) named Erin the Slothful. Continue reading “A Sorta Fairytale”
I’d been thinking about voids a lot lately. Not a space where something is missing or gone but an endless vortex of darkness. Having depression means circling that vortex more often than one should and fighting very hard not to get sucked in. When you battle, you try to save yourself but you keep slipping anyway. And you’re never far away from that vortex. It’s always there, sometimes in the distant background where you don’t even remember why you worry about it. Sometimes it’s right next to you, a constant reminder that you’ll never escape it. When you lean over that vortex to peer into it’s blackness, there’s a pull. “Fall in. You want to. Stop fighting. Just fall in.” What is it about this disease that has us fighting against the basic human instinct of survival? Continue reading “Into the Void”
It’s the first week of May in Northwest Arkansas which means that it’s time for the Bentonville Film Festival. Yes, this once small town which grew to be full of corporate imports of all kinds is now sharing that space with MOAR corporate people and some film industry types. It’s very weird, to say the least. Continue reading “It’s the Most Multicultural Time of The Year: Bentonville Film Festival Edition!”
I had to make an evening visit to the hospital a few nights ago due to persistent symptoms of gaucheness. Or to put it another way, I was clumsy and hurt myself. I was making myself a salad and cutting up some green leaf lettuce with a fairly new knife. I hadn’t had a new knife set in over a decade so sharp knives are still a bit new to me. I was being a bit quick and careless and I hit my thumb. I laughed at myself after it happened and just tried to get the bleeding to stop. It hurt a little but it wasn’t the first time I’d done that (persistent symptoms of gaucheness) so I wasn’t too alarmed until my thumb didn’t stop bleeding about 20 minutes later. I called my parents to see what the time limit is on when you should call it and just go get stitches – as it turns out the time limit is 20 minutes.
I was in 7th grade and wearing a new Pearl Jam t-shirt (even though all I knew of Pearl Jam at the time was what I’d heard on MTV). It had a little girl with paper and crayons on the front and on the back it said “9 out of 10 kids prefer crayons to guns.” Super edgy and smart, right? I was so excited to show off my alternativeness (hipsters didn’t have anything on 90’s grunge attitude). No one anything to me about the shirt until I left math class later that morning. We had just been dismissed and were flowing out of the room into a crowded hallway when I heard two guys laughing behind me.
Continue reading “I Am Mine (Some of the Time)”