happy birthday to ME

It's not even 6am yet - so far I've already received a birthday message from my father and Timothy has sung happy birthday to me three times. He also built me a custom desk for my birthday. Now I can sit on the floor to type, and the puppies can sit in my lap as they tend to demand. Because you know they arrive this Friday... This is the third birthday I've spent in the land of FollowMeToNYC. The three year anniversary of my page is just about...

happy to see you happy

In the past week two people I love and respect said in separate instances something that sounded like, "It's so good to see you happy." While the kind words stretched my record wide smile of late even wider, they also got me thinking of how miserable I was for a minute there. Then I started thinking about the three years of my life woven through these pages. Three continents, two husbands, five jobs, two puppies, six different houses and heaps...

chapters in the park

I thought about chapters today. This occurred after spending some time reading samples of stories presently making their ways to readers around Internet land. I didn't get very far because most of what I read had too many adjectives for my liking... or too many vampires... or too much soft porn... The good that came out of all of this was that it promptly directed me back to some folders filled with files where pieces were cut, pasted, added...

too many papers. more red please.

One of the things that has been completely evident since returning to the States after nine years away is the paperwork attached to EVERYTHING. Oh, you want birthday cake? Just fill out three pages. Let me get this straight - you're trying to pay a bill from your personal bank account? No worries. Here's a short eight page form, and it's just a small fee of $40. Banks, actually are the worst. I have switched banks three times during the eleven...

a visit from nathan

So I'm sitting beside an open window on a blustery New York City eve. I started a new short story. Still working on it, but it starts like this: My therapist says I have separation issues. Miles and I used to run around the playground. Not too near kids. Loud ones. You know the sort. Kids on soccer teams in Subarus. Miles has three fingers on his left hand which I don’t tend to notice and I certainly never mention. I write a lot about mental...
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