Minute by minute

Step by step

Ritual by ritual

I live another day

Another rushed breakfast, another drive to work. Another set of academic periods with ELA or math or accompanying a student to inclusion class.

Another drive back.

Another set of dinners arranged under plastic wrap. Instructions: microwave 2 minutes.

Another dash back to work. Another busload of kids. Another set of arguments, “can you help me with my math?” Another “what’s this word?” answered.

Another recess.

Another set of parents signing out their kids.

Another drive home to my own kids.

Another set of whiteboard instructions for the next day. Who needs a trumpet, sneakers for gym class, do your homework, call mom, empty the dishwasher please.

Another 3 chicken strips and ranch dressing.

Another 3 cosmetic wipes. Another 8 minute shower. Wash, condition. Finger through the biggest, worst knots.

Another set of pills.

Another piece written surreptitiously on the phone. In the bathroom.

Please let me sleep. Please let the pills work tonight. I only want to sleep.

I want to want to wake up.

I want to see a future. I want them to flourish.

I want him to care. But I can’t make him do it.

I want to care. I can’t make myself do it. I can only keep up the routines.

I want to be able to sleep. And sleep and sleep.


Brain Constipation

Gah. Brain block. Brain constipation. Writer’s block. Ack.

I have a few precious hours all in a row to write and my brain refuses to cooperate. Thanks, asshole.

I need to get through the next few hours without flipping out or screaming or melting down. One thing at a time. One minute at a time. One word at a time. Why brain whyyyyy?

When you spend your weekends watching the clock or hiding in the bathroom or finding ridiculous errands to run with your kids just to escape your house/3rd employment location/jail, and you get a magically free couple of hours with no boss to answer to? Heaven.

Maybe I should just sit and watch the leaves fall. Or send that Dear John email. Or both.

Panic Attack

I cannot think I cannot eat I cannot sleep I cannot breathe

I cannot breathe

What if they don’t accept me what is my backup plan what is my next backup plan what is my third backup plan

What if they won’t convert me how will I leave how will I pay how will I leave

What if he fights me how will I leave how will I pay I will never breathe

What if he loves me no more how will I live how will I breathe will I ever breathe

How can I breathe

I’m one in seven billion

How can I breathe

One in seven billion

Do I dare breathe

Do I dare be

Do I dare

So dumb so irrelevant so useless so small why is every thing so big why is every thing bigger than me am I smaller than everything

yet here i am

I am.

i am

I am not breathing but I am

I am.

I Haz A Sad


I am working on a novel that is a splinter, a spin-off, from a previous series. Minor characters from the series are the major players in this work.

I fucked up.

I mentioned in the series, how these people met. It’s kinda integral to part of that story. However, when I started work on this novel, I magically forgot how they met, and I had them meet in a better, more adorable way.


Shit shit shit. I annoy myself no end. Gahhhhhh.

I am here

Barely. I take up too much space but I am barely here. Barely heard. Rarely seen. Because I take up too much space.

Just. Just. Just.

I must, I must, I must.

Too much. It’s too much. I’m too much.

I take up too much. Too much memory. Too much time. Too much space. Too much money.

I am dismissed. No heart to call home.

But I am here.

Defiantly here, in spite of my body, in spite of my fractured heart and mind, in spite of efforts to erase all of the above. My efforts, others’ efforts.

Goodbye, Mommy, Goodbye Daddy

I am leaving

for Camp Fatty

I’ll be good here

This I promise

Because otherwise I won’t be known as honest.

Be good. Be quiet. Hush. Don’t give him a reason to yell. Don’t give him a reason to throw. Don’t give him a reason to hit.

It doesn’t matter if he’s not mad, just disappointed. The sting is the same.

I make less noise when thrown than a smaller, more substantial object.

More mass yet less gravity. More mass and less obviously broken. More mass, more to swing, more to swing at.

Mom, what happened to your arm?

I don’t know, hon. What movie should we watch tonight?

Mom, what’s that red streak?

I don’t know, sugar. What would you like for lunch?

Mom, why are you crying?

I’m not, baby. Let’s build a new Spotify list, whaddaya think?

Oh Christ. What’s the matter with your mother now? Sigh. Ugh.

Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think first. I didn’t mean to see things all wrong.

I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out.

Failing like a CHAMP

Happy Summer, everyone!

I made a chore chart for my kids that looks thusly:

Drink 6 glasses of water (whenever)

Read 2 hours each day (again, whenever)

Brain games (20 minutes of logic puzzles, writing, music-tooting, beatboxing, whatever)

1 hour of exercise

30 minutes of yoga

Oh, and do your chores. If you have any that day.

Apparently, I am a monster.

I don’t have the moolah to send my kids to camp. So I have to have something to fill their days that isn’t Uncle Grandpa or DanTDM or some insane combo thereof.

Today they helped me scout out locations for filming creepy clips for the Dead Leaves book trailer. And then they helped me source parts for a creepy eyeball clock. Unfortunately, eyeballs, human teeth, skin-like pleather, and articulated metatarsals are not a dime a dozen.

HOWEVER. It IS Amazon Prime season, and lo and behold, Amazon DOES have everything we need for our OHMYGAWDWHATTHEHELLISTHAT clock. With free shipping.


So, gentle readers, I may be a monster, but I’m a resourceful one and I’m teaching my kids to do the same. For better or worse.

I like to think Mother Bloggess and Father Wendig would be proud.


Bish Heads

Super excited for the release of a new collection of short horror, Dirty Leaves, later this week! Until then, friends, enjoy this commentary on internet personalities.

Sung to the tune of Fish Heads

Fish heads, dish heads

Red and blueish wish heads

Eat lead, you’re dead

Eat them up, yum!

In the morning, flashy, dashy fish heads

In the evening, floating in her soup

One fish, two fish,

Pouting just for you, fish,

Bobbin up, bobbin down

Flashing for the goons

Have a conversation with a fish head

Shut it down with nothing to lose

Fishy, fleshy, no sense in their dish heads

Aiming in the barrel

Shakalaka BOOM!

Snapper, tapper, she’ll turn down for loose change

Trapper, capper,

She’ll turn up for booze

Fish heads, dish heads

Molly dolly bish heads

Begging for an offer

What you got to lose?

Easy, peasy, no sense in her g-string

Twirly, flurry, undercurrent run

Cheap trick, fleet trick, only one trick paycheck

One backseat ride

Eat’er up, yum!

On screen, tail swing, nothing else to see here

You get what you give here

Bottled answers

Algorithm done!