Periphery

Subtitle: Why my daughter is already a better feminist than I will ever be and also not a feminist at all.
She fiddled with her hair and getting her outfit just right. She painted her nails to match her clothes instead of brushing her teeth like I asked her to. I silently raised my eyes to the sky and wondered: "WHY?! Where have I gone wrong?!" I keep it...

My bike is waiting patiently for me in the garage. The kids are on the bus, my music is uploading to my phone. Yesterday's storybook bright blue skies have given way to the more monochrome palate of Seattle in the fall and it's time for me to hit the...

In the quiet times, the times between time, my mind wanders back to this bitter news unbidden. It laps the edges of it and it tastes like tears. I wonder, as I often do with suicide, about those final moments. Those last few, completely unknown, utterly...

There were a few hours earlier this week where I was really, really angry. Muttering, hissing, arm-waving angry. I wrote inflammatory things all over the inside of my head. Biting, bitter, well-placed words that would sting. Not like bees, but like jellyfish...