Since graduating high school in the eighties, I’ve proceeded on a bumpy path, a subconscious pilgrimage it seems to sabotage my parent’s “please-just-do-the-right-thing” campaign. This campaign, like all parents run for their children, entailed political correctness in obtaining a college degree, holding down a decent job, getting married to the right person, procreating with the benefits of grandchildren, paying down a mortgage, saving for retirement and calling or visiting every weekend.…

Through the pale closed lids of my eyes, I know the morning sunlight is streaming into the room and warming three slumbering piles of cat fluff on our queen-size bed. The summer heat is still tolerable this early; the fan blows across the room, spreading a damp-feeling humidity. The dog, wedged between Dennis and me, lies with her limbs sprawled; an abrasive pad of her forefoot mashes my cheek up and over my left eye. It’s a weekend morning.

With the unobstructed eye, I squint over at…

The room closed in. The air got thick, dense, tension seeped into my pores. I grew smaller in stature, shrunk right there in my chair before her as if I was Alice and had choked down a little red pill.

She, mother; me, daughter.

The topic was forthcoming, typical of family gatherings, a line of discussion of an inquisitive nature. It is terribly humiliating this line, disintegrating the little validation I feel about myself and certainly paving the way to pulverizing any…

I write this post with Cosmo in hand. Not the cosmos which if I had in hand I’d mold to my content, but the vodka, cranberry, Cointreau and lime concoction which I do happen to mold to my content. Unfortunately, I am without a fancy lemon twist.

Regardless, I want to talk to you about being “in the body.” I have just sent a note to my developmental editor, Suzanne “In-the-Body” Kingsbury to tell her that her concept has gelled. Suzanne is one of those rare people you meet who…