The Boy I’m Gonna

.. a (semi) fiction short .. My first complaint was that Jim didn’t hold my hand in the back of the cab. Granted, he had already held other parts of me (and held them pretty well) but we were dressed in our finest - he in a nice grey suit and navy tie, me in…

When the Rug is Pulled: Humility, Identity, and Other Such Things

When I first began my teaching career in 2011, I prided myself on two things: my ability to connect with students and my classroom management. I wasn't always the best lesson planner or designer of rubrics, and I certainly wasn't always fired up about professional development and the state of education, but I could create…

The Through Line

"The stable solution is the individual who tells the truth." Like any relatively young person stumbling along and thirsting to learn, there is plenty that I don't know and understand. Because I tend to write so personally and from direct experience, much of what I state on here vacillates and changes. As I have grown up…

Cool Shoes

Sometimes all it takes is a pair of shoes to shift everything. In fifth grade, my supremely cool step-mom took me to see Clueless and then proceeded to whirlwind me around Westside Pavilion on a shopping spree to mimic the far out fashion of the film. We're talking plaid skirts and knee high socks, patent leather…

love, enough

[fiction short] An hour before I am supposed to leave, I start crying. I've had that fluttery, controlling, rigidity-soaked fear for two days now, and underneath that there are always two forms of grief - the actual grief, which hurts, and the tender grief about being so hard on myself, that the New Age Buddhists call radical…

Zoloft in High School

somewhere in 2003, a girl   I am seventeen years old, and I am depressed, and I think it's a cliche. I want so much to be good, but I cannot outrun, outdrink, outfuck this fear, and this fear is making me bad. I can barely get out of bed in the morning. Warning: May…