A Sorta Fairytale

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”

Corporate Meeting Notes – RE: Sexual Harassment

Hello!  We’re your HR team.  Thanks for having us at your year end meeting.  It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it.  And while there’s a lot going on outside of the workplace, we want you to know we’re also focused on what’s going on here.  Given the recent . . . spate of accusations that have been in the media, it’s a good time to revisit a certain topic.  Yes, today we’re going to talk about . . . refrigerator etiquette! Continue reading “Corporate Meeting Notes – RE: Sexual Harassment”

Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage

I’ve spent most of my life swallowing anger until it fermented into a unique blend of sad, bitter, and isolated – suggested pairings are spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar and wearing pajamas for over 24 hours.   Continue reading “Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage”

What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

It should come as no surprise to anyone who has read anything I’ve written that I have a regular appointment with a therapist.  Well, in one of these recent regularly scheduled appointments I had a bit of a revelation.  I am not good at love.  I don’t love people the way you should and I don’t let them love me back (don’t make that dirty).  I don’t suppose I ever really learned how or tried to learn.  Honest, open love requires vulnerability and that is terrifying.  So much can go wrong when you open yourself completely to someone.  There are so many ways to hurt someone or to get hurt by someone in this world.   Continue reading “What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)”

Out, Damned Spot!

There’s a spot on my hand.  It’s not a mole, I have plenty of those and I know how they look.  I had one on the same hand as the spot.  It isn’t a freckle either, it’s too weird looking to be a freckle.  It isn’t a pockmark or a scar or a scab.  I know exactly what it is.  There isn’t enough denial in me to pretend.  I could scrub but it would still be there and even if I scrubbed it off my skin I would still know that spot existed on me.  And this damned spot is a problem that won’t let me be. Continue reading “Out, Damned Spot!”